


three steps from the ledge

by eliestarr



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: ALL OF THE CAMEOS, M/M, batfamily au, coarse language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-21 23:37:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13154481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eliestarr/pseuds/eliestarr
Summary: There’s something afoot in Beacon City, and Scott and Liam must go toe-to-toe with a mysterious new vigilante by the name of Red Hood, who just might be someone from Batman’s past and who seems very interested in his Boy Wonder. Subsequently, old wounds reopen and ancient, once buried memories come into the light, making Liam question everything Scott has taught him.Or, an Under the Red Hood AU no one asked for but was absolutely too difficult to pass up.





	three steps from the ledge

**Author's Note:**

> *rolls up late with starbucks and an excessively large fic*  
> written as part of the Thiam Secret Santa 2k17 on tumblr for demigodshuntinginpacks. I hope you like it!!
> 
> some scenes adapted from the Under the Red Hood comic arc. everything unbeta'd, so be gentle.

The warehouse district is cold in late September. Granted, it’s always cold in Beacon City. That much he remembers.

He pulls his jacket a little tighter around his shoulders, and swings in through the window he left open hours before when he picked this place. His boots press soundlessly against the catwalk as angry voices drift up from below him.

“What the hell do you mean, you didn’t set this up?” Someone shouts, and there’s a loud bang as his fist strikes the table. The sound echoes in the open room around him and the two dozen men and women gathered.

 _Good_. He grins in the shadows above them. _They’re all here_.

“Who did?” A woman asks, looking around at the rest of the group. She props her elbows on the table, practically sneering at them while the blonde standing behind her shakes his head. “I thought it was you east side pricks. I mean, you _already_ rolled over for the Black Mask. I figured you were going to ask us in.”

“If you had any sense, you’d join,” one of them chimes in, looking at his nails. “He’s got this city in his pocket.”

“Well, he’s certainly got _you_ in his pocket, Chemist,” she laughs, reaching over to pat his arm. He scowls in response. Up above, the newcomer slips the duffel bag off his shoulder, pulling out his gun.

“Get on board, Violet, or get dead.”

“So you _did_ set this up?”

“Nonsense, I thought it was the Mute.”

All eyes fall on the man in question, who shrugs. Next to him, a man in a police uniform stands, slamming his hands against the table. “Okay, screw this. I’m done.”

Above, the man smiles beneath the mask he’s wearing, and clicks the magazine into place. _It’s showtime_.

Below, the deputy is still shouting. “You brain donors want to sit around and—”

He fires.

Just a couple shots, all aimed at the round table. Instantly, the group dives out of the way, every bodyguard moving to cover whoever’s paying them. Chairs rattle against the cement floor. When he pulls up, most of them are already on their feet already, aiming weapons his way. The deputy steps forward first, glaring. “Relax, Haigh,” the newcomer laughs, and it sounds a little tinny as it echoes out through the helmet on his head. “It’s _my_ meeting. I invited you.”

“Like that’s supposed to mean something? Who the fuck are you?!” Haigh yells.

“Are you interested in dying tonight?” Violet asks, voice as sweet as sugar, before dropping low and venomous. “Because there are easier ways to kill yourself.”

“Yeah. Like yelling at the guy holding the AK-47.” He props the tip of his rifle on the railing. “Listen. You six morons are the most prosperous street dealers in Beacon. So I’m going to offer you a deal, and you’re going to take it. The drug trade? It’s mine now. You keep going as you are, but you kick up forty percent to me. I can tell you it’s much better than anything the Black Mask will give you.”

“What do we gain from it?” The Chemist says, calculating.

“Protection,” he shrugs, and allows himself a small smile beneath his helmet. “From both Black Mask _and_ Batman. The only catch is you stay away from kids and school yards, _you got that_? Otherwise, you’re dead.”

“The offer’s generous, certainly,” the Chemist nods, looking at the rest of the crowd gathered. “But why is it we should listen to you?”

 _Thought you’d never ask_. He reaches back, snags the handle on his duffel bag, and swings it up and over the railing. It lands square on the table beneath, spilling its contents. They look down at the heads of their top lieutenants as they roll from the bag, horrified. One of them pukes. “That took me two hours. Wanna see what I can do in a whole evening?”

* * *

_Black Mask._

Just seeing the name sets his blood boiling. Liam swipes at the screen, eyes scanning over the information that scrolls past. _Large family fortune. Former CEO of Argent Arms International. Cancer survivor. Wears mask to cover the effects of irradiation—black fluid periodically leaks from facial orifices._

And the final entry, added in five months ago.

_Currently: Leader of Beacon’s underground._

He hates it. He hates every word. He hates the man they’re tied to more than he’s hated anyone else in his entire life. He’s so focused on glaring at the screen that he never notices that he has company until someone speaks.

“Liam?”

He nearly jumps out of his skin at his best friend’s voice. He spins in his chair to face Mason, who’s smiling gently. He spots Corey a little further away, arms tucked behind his back shyly. “Sorry,” Mason chuckles. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

“You didn’t,” Liam says gruffly, and Mason grins. He watches as the other boy’s eyes roam across the computer screens behind him. When Liam reaches back and hits a button to shut them off, it earns him a pitying look.

“Liam, look. We know it’s been hard. But you can’t keep doing this to yourself, okay?” Mason says, reaching forward to rest his hand on his best friend’s shoulder. “It’s not healthy.”

“We understand you’re still grieving,” Corey adds softly, stepping closer. “We are, too. But focusing on things the way you are…”

“You’re barely eating,” Mason motions to the plate next to him—a sandwich he’d brought him hours earlier, with only one bite taken out of it. “And when’s the last time you slept?”

Liam opens his mouth to respond, but the other boy’s eyes narrow into a frown. “In a bed, not in this chair.” He snaps his mouth shut, grumbles. “Exactly. Listen, we’re not asking you to forget what happened, and we’re not asking you to move on. But Mask hasn’t made moves in months, and we…”

“We’re just asking for one night out,” Corey says, smiling hesitantly. “One night where you can let loose and live a little.”

He notices, then, that neither of them are in their usual gear. Corey’s out of costume, and Mason’s wearing that dark red dress shirt he only wears if they’re going out drinking. It makes Liam slightly self-conscious, because he’s pretty sure he’s been in his Robin suit the last two days. As if reading his mind, Mason’s hand slides down to his, squeezing. “She’d want you to live your life, man. She wouldn’t want you to be consumed by revenge.”

Liam sighs, because he knows they’re right. He pushes down the part of him that itches to dig deeper, to find something, _anything_ that will give them a lead on putting Black Mask away and making him pay for what he did. He’s spent nearly every waking moment the last four months trying. And if he hasn’t made progress so far, well… he’s certainly not going to tonight.

“Alright,” he nods. Mason and Corey’s faces light up, and against his better judgement, Liam smiles. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

* * *

Barely an hour later and he’s regretting his words.

He’s dressed in something relatively nice; black jeans and a dark blue knitted sweater he _swears_ Mason’s put through the dryer on purpose. The music’s pounding and the lights are low, and though they’ve managed to find a booth tucked in the back of the bar, Liam swears he can still smell sweat all the way from the dancefloor.

“I fucking _hate_ Sinema,” he groans, head in his hands.

“No, you don’t,” Mason grins, wrapping an arm around his shoulders as Corey presses in from the other side. How he ended up trapped between them, nursing a double Jack and coke is beyond him. “This place used to be our jam!”

“Yeah, when we were in high school and it was the only place in Beacon that served us underage,” Liam shakes his head. The music’s loud enough that he almost has to shout.

“Well, good thing one of those is still true,” his best friend grins, downing the rest of his drink. The song changes, and distantly, Liam think it’s something he recognizes. Mason’s eyes light up. “Speaking of jams!”

“Oh no.”

“Oh _yes_!” Mason grins, motioning to Liam’s drink with his free hand. On his other side, Corey’s already sliding out of the booth. “C’mon!”

It burns going down, but there’s a smile on his lips when he sets the glass down and follows the two of them towards the dancefloor. They both reach for him, Mason lacing their fingers together while Corey’s hand ghosts over his waistline as they form a small triangle in the middle of the room, blocking everyone else out. Liam’s instantly grateful for his best friends.

Their eyes rarely ever leave one another, and once or twice, their foreheads dip close enough to touch—but they never make him feel left out. They never close the small circle they’ve made, just the three of them, swaying and bouncing to the beat. Their energy is contagious, and for a few songs, Liam remembers why he liked going out with them.

Because even though it’s obvious to anyone that the two of them are together, he never feels like a third wheel. It’s something he’s always appreciated from them, before everything in his life went crazy, and now here, after.

At least until the next song starts, and Mason’s leaning in to whisper in his ear. “Okay, don’t freak out, but—”

Every alarm bell in his body goes off, and his shoulders instantly lock up.

“—there’s this _really_ hot guy at the bar that’s been checking you out since we got here, and he’s sort of walking this way, so…”

“Don’t you dare,” Liam hisses, but Mason’s already pulling away, grinning ear to ear.

“Sorry.” Corey laughs softly, patting him on the shoulder to try and soothe what he’s sure is a panicked look on his face. “Remember,” the other boy says with a wink. “Live a little.”

And then they’re gone, slipping off through the crowd, wrapped around one another.

He takes it back. They’re absolutely the fucking worst to go out with.

“I’m sure I’d feel the same if my best friends had just ditched me,” a low, husky voice says in his ear, and Liam spins, shutting down every instinct in his body that’s screaming to punch the intruder. He wills himself to relax, to assess the newcomer.

He’s met with bright green eyes, glittering with amusement, and brown hair that’s clean-cut and styled messily, on purpose. The stranger’s broad shoulders are packed tightly into a smooth, black shirt and his matching jeans leave very little to the imagination, tucking into heavy combat boots that Liam briefly thinks are strangely out of place, but work for him. There’s a dark stubble peppering his face, but he can’t be much older than them.

“What?” he frowns, eyes flicking back up as he realizes that at this close proximity, his once-over was incredibly obvious. And probably not taken as analytically as he’d meant it to. His cheeks heat, because the stranger’s almost predatory grin means he _definitely_ noticed.

“You might think they’re the worst,” he says, taking a half-step back to allow him space, and the Boy Wonder notices he’s just a hair taller, “but they left me an opening to dance with you, so I can’t really complain.”

“What?” Liam says again, blinking. His eyes widen as it dawns on him that he must’ve spoken out loud. “Oh, um. Yeah?”

 _Smooth, dude._ He can almost hear Mason’s voice saying the words in his head. _Very smooth_.

The stranger laughs, the sound deep and rich in way Liam’s not used to. It strikes a chord in him somewhere very low; makes his heart skip a traitorous beat he’s thankful the other boy can’t hear. He’s saved from the further embarrassment of speaking when the guy leans in again, close enough that his breath ghosts over the shell of Liam’s ear. “Theo.”

The Boy Wonder lets out a laugh to match, feeling his anxiety bleed out from him as Theo’s hands settle tentatively at his waist. Slowly, their bodies find the beat again, together. “Liam.”

“Nice to meet you, Liam.” He pulls back to smile, something that does wonders for his entire face. Liam watches the laughter dance in his eyes, and he thinks for the briefest moment that _yeah_ , Mason was definitely right about this guy.

“Right about what?” Theo says, and the smile shifts, becoming more of a smirk.

 _For fuck’s sake_. Liam kicks himself mentally for speaking out loud. Again. And somehow throwing all of his training with Scott out the window for one pretty face. Carefully, he brings one hand to rest against Theo’s chest, and the other on his waistline, steadying himself.

Ignoring the blush creeping across his cheeks, Liam clears his throat. “That the guy who’d been watching me all night was decently attractive.”

“Decent, huh?” Theo chuckles, one brow raised.

It’s Liam’s turn to grin. “I’m fairly certain he said _really hot,_  but, well--I can’t let you have all the points right off the bat.” He ignores the way one of his hands gets clammy, resisting the urge to let it tremble. He’s had enough embarrassment for a lifetime already, and he’s only known the guy five minutes.

“Course not,” Theo agrees, winking. “It’d take the fun out of winning the rest myself.”

Despite that, he doesn’t make any further moves for another three songs. Instead, he keeps his gaze level with Liam, swaying to the beat, his thumb rubbing slow circles at the base of the shorter boy’s spine. It builds a fierce heat low in his belly, and Liam’s self-control tightens in his chest like an elastic, stretching closer to its breaking point. It’s familiar, in a way, but wholly different, and it sets his nerves on fire because no one’s made him feel this way in months.

He’s about to say something when Theo beats him to it.

“So what brings you out tonight?”

Liam lets out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. “My friends, the ones that ditched me—they said it was probably time I go out. Live a little. I’ve been sort of cooped up lately.”

“Well, I’m glad they convinced you,” Theo grins, and Liam’s very aware by the way his breath ghosts over his lips that there’s rather little distance between them now. That, and the fact that he can see every fleck of soft yellow and brown mixed in with the green expanse of his eyes.

Which also means he can see the signs a mile out before the other boy dips his head. He fails to meet him halfway, cheeks burning and heart pounding in his chest as his forehead drops against Theo’s shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

“I can stop, if you want.” The words are spoken softly in his ear, carefully.

“No, I’m—” Liam swallows, hard, and his fingers grip into the back of the other boy’s shirt. “Sorry, I’m just a little out of practice. We haven’t been out in months, and I—”

His throat very politely locks up, causing his voice to abandon him. Theo’s hands flatten against his back, lifting slightly from their previous resting place. It’s enough to settle Liam’s nerves, the foggy cloud of lust clearing from his brain. “Recently single?”

A cold, sharp spike pierces his heart at the words. “Yes,” he chokes, and hopes he doesn’t sound nearly as miserable as he feels. When he glances back up, the look he receives is sympathetic and touching, not pitying in the least. It helps.

“It’s okay, y’know,” Theo says gently. “To not be ready.”

It takes Liam a moment to find the words, but when he does, he feels his pulse quicken. “I don’t think I’d be here if I weren’t.” He glances away, to their left, to where he’s tracked his friends despite their earlier escape. They’re pressed close together, looking for all the world like they only have eyes for each other—but Liam knows better. After all, the same man trained all three of them. Well, him and Corey, at least.

His eyes lock with Corey’s, who looks startled that he’s been caught staring. The Boy Wonder grins, looking back up to his dance partner. “I don’t think they’d have left me alone, either.”

“So they’re not the worst afterall, are they?” Theo’s smiling again, bright enough that it lights up his whole face. His presses closer to Liam, carefully watching him for any sign that he’s uncomfortable. He leans closer in response, the tip of his nose brushing against the other boy’s.

“No, they’re not.” He licks his lips, and the way Theo’s green eyes flicker down to them, darkening—it sets something in the pit of his stomach aflame. This time, he moves first.

And then, because the universe hates him, his watch goes off. He pauses, his lips barely a breath away from their target, and he exhales angrily through his nostrils. “ _Fuck_.”

“Midnight already, huh?” Theo’s tone is light and teasing, but it doesn’t help the swell of guilt in his chest. Liam’s eyes flicker down to see the red light blinking angrily up at him.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, and immediately misses the other boy’s warmth when he pulls away. He can feel the redness spreading from his cheeks to his neck as he stammers his way through his apology. “This isn’t some sort of—I’m not trying to be that guy—”

“It’s alright,” Theo shrugs, patient smile ever present, but Liam can see the disappointment crystal clear in his eyes. “Maybe it just wasn’t our night.”

“I’m sorry,” Liam says again, shoulders slumping as his dance partner steps back, starting to turn away.

And then there’s a hand thrusting a piece of paper to his chest. For a moment, Theo looks stunned, and his eyes drift over to meet Mason’s winning smile. Corey sidles up to him, wrapping an arm around his shoulder and tucking the arm with a matching wrist watch behind their backs. “Find another night, and we promise we’ll clear his schedule.”

The Boy Wonder makes a strangled noise, and the taller boy smirks, pocketing the piece of paper. “I can live with that.” His eyes find Liam’s again. “See you around, Liam.”

And with that, he disappears into the crowd. “Holy shit,” Mason breathes. “I am a genius.”

Liam turns to him, glaring. “ _Why_ did you have my number handy?”

“I didn’t,” Mason responds, and their watches all beep again, a little more insistently than before. “Shit, c’mon.”

A moment later and they’re moving off the dancefloor, headed for the exit. They’re outside by the time he speaks again. “I had to swing by the bar for a napkin when our watches went off.”

“You wrote my number on a _napkin_?!” Liam groans, because this is the most cliché thing he’s ever been a part of, and it’s not even willingly.

“You can thank me later,” Mason says, his grin splitting from ear to ear. He motions to Liam’s wrist. “Now, c’mon, let’s see what he wants.”

Rolling his eyes, Liam obliges, bringing his arm up and tapping at his watch. A small holo-screen flares to life above it, and in a second, Stiles’ face fills it.

“ _Finally_ , Jesus. What’s a guy gotta do around here to get some attention?” A female voice in the background states that she’d been giving him plenty of attention beforehand, and even on a projection that’s tinted blue they can see the fierce blush it elicits. “Yes, okay, _thank you honey!”_

He grumbles something under his breath, then returns his focus to them. “I’m sorry to interrupt your night out, boys, but the big guy needs your help down at the docks. We got word twenty minutes ago of a suspicious shipment coming in and it’s got Black Mask’s name all over it.”

Liam’s eyes widen. Beside him, both Mason and Corey curse.

“Robin, Spectre, I’m sending the GPS coordinates to you both now. I trust you can find your way there.”

“You brought our suits, right?” He asks Mason under his breath, while Corey brings up his GPS screen.

“Would I be me if I didn’t?” His best friend winks, tossing a thumb over his shoulder. “R-Cycle’s around the corner.”

“Proxy?” Stiles calls, and Mason’s attention whips back up to the screen, alert.

“Yes?”

“Can you run the op from the cave?” He looks over his shoulder, then waggles his eyebrows at them. “I’m at the Clocktower and, well, a little occupied.”

Both Liam and Corey roll their eyes, while Mason snickers. “No problem, boss man.”

“Thanks!” Stiles grins. “I’ll let Batman know you’re on the way!”

And then he’s gone, quick as he appeared, and they’re on the move, following Mason’s lead. “How far are we?” Liam asks, in what both of them have often described as his ‘work voice’. Corey motions to the holo-screen on his wrist, to the space between their three dots and the red one.

“Not far. Maybe ten minutes, fifteen tops.”

They turn down an alleyway, and he spots the taillights from his bike tucked underneath a black tarp. They skid to a stop and he uncovers it, pressing three fingers against the side panel. It beeps as it recognizes his fingerprints, then slides open to reveal two suits. Corey reaches forward to grab his, then vanishes from sight to put it on.

His gaze slides to Mason next. “Take the R-Cycle back.” He strips off his shirt mid-sentence, regretting that he doesn’t have the luxury of turning invisible. Then again, Mason’s known him his whole life, and Liam’s never been one for modesty anyway, so what’s it matter? “Let us know once you’ve linked up with the batcomputer.”

Mason nods, clambering onto the bike. As Liam finishes pulling on his suit, Corey reappears, stuffing his clothes into the open compartment. He gathers the Boy Wonder’s stuff up and does the same, just as the R-Cycle roars to life. “Be safe,” Corey whispers, kissing his boyfriend.

“You too,” Mason nods at them both, and then he’s off. Liam zips his suit shut, slides his domino mask on, and grins at his partner. There’s a frantic, buzzing adrenaline already building in his chest.

“Let’s go.”

* * *

By the time they make it there, a dozen or so guards are already standing outside a shipping freighter, and several boxes have already been unloaded. They swing up onto the designated rooftop, and find Scott waiting in the shadows of a chimney, watching through the cowl’s x-ray lenses, if the soft glow is anything to go by.

Liam crouches next to him, peering over the edge. “Anything yet?”

“The usual small arms, nothing special yet,” he says, motioning towards the boat. “They’re behind schedule, so whatever flagged Oracle’s scan is still onboard.” Scott turns a grin on them both. “I was just waiting on our invite.”

The Boy Wonder returns the smile. “Well,” he says dramatically, exchanging a look with Corey, “far be it from us to disappoint.”

Scott flicks off his x-ray vision, propping his foot against the ledge. “Proxy, you live yet?”

“ _Yes, sir!_ ” Mason chirps in their ears, and Liam grins. He’ll never get tired of hearing his best friend on comms. Despite being the newest addition to the team, he’s one of the most enthusiastic, and not a day goes by that Liam’s not thankful to Scott for bringing him on.

Or Stiles, he should say, since he is his protege after all.

“Good. In forty-five seconds, kill the lights.” Scott signals Liam to his left, and Corey to his right. Both boys nod, and then they’re off. The Dynamic Duo leaps from the rooftop, capes billowing in the wind and catching air, locking into a glide. Their silent partner vanishes from sight, taking a running jump off the side of the building.

“Keep it moving!” One of the guards beneath them shouts, fingers tapping the barrel of his gun. “We’re _late_ enough as is!”

“Relax,” another one scoffs. “We’re armed to the teeth, man. Anybody comes at us and it’ll be the last thing they do.”

“Yeah? Big talk.”

“Hell yes,” Mr. Cocky grins, holding up his rifle. Liam aims for him. “Big talk. Big gun. Big—”

The marina lights shut off, and the night vision in their masks flicker to life at Mason’s digital request. The end of his grappling hook wraps around the gun, looping once, twice, and a third time as the guard frowns. “Hey, what the—”

Liam’s boots connect with his helmet, sending him sprawling. He rolls with the momentum, back on his feet in seconds, grinning. “Anybody ever tell you you’ve got a big mouth?” He taps a button on his belt to retract the hook, turning towards the sound of Scott’s laughter.

He’s between two guards, fists connecting with their faces over the din of their confused gunfire. “These are some nice guns, guys.” Both his targets drop, and he moves on to the next. “It’s a shame you won’t be needing them anymore.”

A guard across the platform drops the box he’d been holding, bringing up his rifle and aiming. Halfway there, it slips from his hands, hanging in midair. “What—?” Corey smashes it into his face, and he drops like the rest.

It takes them two minutes and thirty-two seconds to dispatch the rest. Liam counts every beat against his jubilant heart. These are the nights he lives for.

They drag all twelve guards to a lamppost a little ways off, and strap them in for their nap as it turns back on. As he moves to follow Scott and Corey to the boat, there’s a bounce to his step, and he pats the first guard he’d knocked out on the head. “Sleep tight, dude.”

Inside, there’s plenty more boxes, and three more guards lying in wait. Scott and Liam bait them, while Corey vanishes and knocks them out, one at a time. He’s dusting off his suit when they reach him, standing beneath the open skylight. “These guys aren’t playing around, boss. They’re dressed for a small war.”

Liam crouches down next to one, picking up his rifle and turning it over. He spots a familiar french symbol engraved on the stock, and his teeth clench as he dutifully lifts his wrist to scan it in. “You recognize these?”

“Argent Arms,” Scott nods, approaching the boxes in the centre of the room, his cowl’s eyes lit up with an x-ray glow once more.

Mason’s voice crackles to life in his ear. “ _They were stolen three weeks ago._ ”

“Mask’s goons are stealing from his own son, huh? That’s gotta piss Chris off,” Liam snorts.

“His voicemail _did_ sound pretty upset,” Scott says, lips curving into a ghost of a smile. He taps the box in front of him. “This one’s clear of explosives.”

“Great,” Liam says brightly, plucking a crowbar from the hands on the guard who’d clearly been in charge of opening them and wandering over. “What do you think’s inside? Arms? Drugs? Tech?”

“I’m betting arms,” Corey says, taking the crowbar from Liam’s hand once he’s done with it and starting on the next box.

The Boy Wonder slides the lid off, then frowns. “Oh. What the fuck? Is that—”

“Looks like it,” Scott nods, peering over his shoulder. “Clawed bracers from the Desert Wolf, a few of the Oni’s swords, and those are vials of the Darach’s fear toxin.”

“All pretty lethal things, considering,” Liam nods. “Weird to find them all together. Does Black Mask suddenly fancy himself a collector, or something?”

“Maybe.” Scott doesn’t sound convinced, and Liam doesn’t need to see his face beneath the cowl to know he’s frowning.

“Well, I guess it means we’ve got a few new souvenirs for the cave,” Corey grins, and the box he’s working on finally relents, lid snapping under the crowbar’s pressure. He slides it open, and his face instantly falls. “Shit.”

Liam doesn’t need to hear the beeping to know what he found.

“Move!” Scott yells.

They don’t have to be told twice. In an instant, they’re sprinting for the exit. None of them bother with the ramp, leaping straight for the water as the beeping flatlines behind them, and the entire boat blows. The explosion rocks the marina, filling the water around them with searing heat and bright orange light.

They wait for it to subside before they move for the surface, slowly and painfully dragging themselves up onto the dock. Liam spits water everywhere, hair falling into his face. Distantly, he can hear Mason calling for them, but his hears are ringing far too much from the explosion for him to answer. There’s a flash somewhere to his right, and his gaze snaps up to track it.

“I’m sorry,” Corey croaks, shooting Scott a guilty look.

“It’s alright, Spectre,” their leader says, clapping him on the shoulder. “As long as you’re okay.”

“Yeah,” he says, sounding out of breath. “Yeah, Ma— _Proxy_ , I’m okay. Robin?”

But Liam’s not paying attention. His eyes are focused on a figure, standing on top of the building they’d met on earlier. He doesn’t need to turn on vision enhancement in his domino mask to see the detonator in the person’s hand. “There,” he says, pointing. “On the roof.”

Beside him, Scott growls. “Go.”

He’s on his feet in an instant, breaking into a run. He knows from the sloshing and wet slap of boots on pavement that they’re not far behind him, but he’s always been the fastest. “Recognize him?” he shouts into the wind.

“No,” Scott answers. “But right now, I don’t really care. Just get him.”

His legs burn as he urges them to move faster, grappling up to the roof, and then to the next building as Liam gives chase, eyes narrowing to focus on the brown leather jacket and bright red helmet. The suspect is broad-shouldered, strong leg muscles carrying him forward at a pace that Liam matches, but is surprised by. He’s quick. Not just fast, but agile too.

At the next building, he curves, leaping left instead of forward, and Liam’s boots skid against the roof as he changes course to follow. He’s not thinking about his next move, he’s just making it. _Impressive_ . Liam thinks, despite himself. _He’s been well-trained._

But then again, so has he.

At the next building, Liam pulls grappling wire from his belt, clicking it into place around a batarang. He waits until they’re mid-jump to throw. He watches at it arcs towards it’s target, looping around his ankle once, twice, three—

The guy leans down and swipes a knife through the line before it goes taut, leaving Liam frowning. _What the fuck? There’s no way…_

“ _Robin, talk to me_.” Mason says. “ _The others aren’t far behind you.”_

“Suspect is about 5’8”, well-built and fast. Military-style suit but—anyone in the database wear a red helmet?” Liam asks. He can hear faint typing as Mason starts looking. “Also, he cut my grappling wire.”

“ _What?_ ”

“Yeah. And I can’t get a bead on where he’s headed. It’s like he’s—”

His boots thud against the gravel as he nears the end of the roof, skidding to a stop as the other guy leaps off. Liam watches the way he tucks into himself, bracing for impact before he goes crashing through a skylight down below on the next building. He hesitates a split-second before he moves to follow, tossing a line behind him to secure his descent.

“Heading into Fuller Metals.”

When he lands, it’s in relative darkness, save for the moonlight filtering in from the skylight. He’s on alert right away, carefully reaching up to tap his domino mask. The moment the night vision flares to life, he sees the fist coming.

Pity it’s already too close to stop.

It connects with his face, and he feels bone crack. Blood spurts from his nose, and one hand flies to cover it. The other comes up to brace against the second punch, blocking an uppercut aimed for his jaw. He stumbles back, eyes narrowing as he takes in his opponent.

They’re about the same height, but he’s definitely bigger. Beneath the leather jacket is what looks to be an armored shirt, or maybe kevlar, it’s hard to tell with his vision blurring, slightly. His dark combat pants match, and disappear beneath heavy boots and thick shin guards. To anyone he’d look like a standard ex-military goon for hire. Except, of course, for the bright red helmet. Liam frowns.

It’s armored, too, if the reinforced black side panels he can make out are anything to go by. The lens cutouts for his eyes remind him of the ones on his own domino mask, or Scott’s cowl. This guy looks like he means business, and that’s without taking into account the two guns strapped to his hips.

Liam wipes the blood from his face, spits, and then stands up straight. “Who are you?”

His only response is a laugh that sounds metallic, hollow as it echoes in the mask. Liam growls, and lunges, fist flying. But even to him, it feels to sluggish. He knows it the moment he’s in motion. His opponent ducks beneath it, and swings at him before he has enough time to register the dodge.

The body shot knocks the wind out of him, and he realizes now that the guy’s gloves are reinforced too, because _ow_. That felt like it might’ve been a rib. He doesn’t fall—he makes _absolutely sure_ he doesn’t fall—but it’s a lot closer than he likes playing things. When he comes for another hit, Liam shoves him off, watches him skid back slightly.

It gives him a second wind, and this time when he charges, he’s more careful. He lands three punches before his fourth gets parried, and his fifth goes wide as the guy ducks under it again, responding in kind with a nasty uppercut.

 _Click_. The sound of his teeth clacking together fills Liam with dread, and he feels the instant his momentum carries him over his limit, his feel lifting off the ground. He lands on his ass, skull crashing against the cement floor with a sickening thud.

“Not bad, Little Bird,” the guy teases, standing over him. There’s a slightly robotic layer to his voice that tells Liam he’s got a voice changer in that helmet. “But you weren’t my target tonight, I’m afraid.”

The edges of his vision are darkening, blurring. Liam curses himself for being so easily outplayed. Scott’s going to be disappointed and he _hates_ that. For the second time that night, he can barely make out Mason’s voice in his ear, panicked, calling his name. “Who are you?” he asks again, tasting blood on his lips as they form the words.

“Call me the Red Hood.” Liam swears that if he could see his face, he’d be grinning.

The whole room darkens, and this time the Boy Wonder knows it’s not just his fading consciousness when the guy looks up. Scott’s found them. The last thing he sees is Batman’s silhouette blocking out the skylight, a second figure materializing in thin-air beside him and then everything goes dark.

* * *

He wakes in the sunlight of another day to Mason and Corey’s worried faces and a heavy press of guilt and shame in his chest. It turns to rage the moment he catches sight of himself in a reflective surface. His face is a series of mottled shapes and colours, his nose is swollen, as is the skin around his right eye. Mason turns the EKG monitor away from him with a sympathetic wince.

“It’ll heal,” he tells him.

Liam glares at his hands in his lap. “What happened?”

Corey sighs. “He got away. Scott and I tried but—he’s good.” The Boy Wonder notices the bandaged wrist, and the slice across his cheek.

“Better than Scott?” Liam asks, mouth agape.

“Don’t sound so surprised, Liam,” his mentor laughs, stepping into the med-lab. There’s a bright, shiny bruise under his right eye, and a slit in his lower lip. Stiles wheels in behind him, tablet in hand. “There’s always someone better out there.”

“Yeah, but—you’re _you._ ” His hands motion uselessly in his lap. Scott smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. There’s something off about it, _and_ his guarded tone of voice.

“Careful, kid, he’s had enough titles and praise go to his head already. I mean—World’s Greatest Detective? _Please_ ,” Stiles snickers, eyes not lifting from the screen in his lap. The machine Liam’s hooked up to beeps and chirps happily, then shuts down at his request.

“Hey!” Scott makes an offended noise at the back of his throat, and Stiles looks up at him, beaming.

“C’mon, you know ninety percent of that’s me.”

“Seventy-five,” Scott argues.

“Eighty-seven.”

All three boys rolls their eyes. It’s a disagreement they’ve heard plenty of times before. Mason busies himself with disconnecting Liam from the machine, and when he’s finally free, the Boy Wonder swings his legs over the edge of the bed, going to stand.

It cuts the argument dead. “Whoa there,” Scott chides, stepping forward and laying a hand on his protege’s shoulder. “Take it easy, okay?”

“Careful’s my middle name,” Liam reassures him, smiling. Beside him, Mason snorts.

“That’s a weird way of pronouncing _Eugene_.”

Liam whips a fierce glare on him. “Shut up!” He hisses, but it’s too late. Stiles is already doubled over in his chair, peals of laughter pouring from him.

“Oh, man, _Eugene_? Really?” He looks up, wiping tears from his eyes as he grins at Scott. “How did I not know that? Did the batcomputer fail to point that out when we downloaded his information? I’m offended, I thought I’d programmed her better.”

“Stiles,” Scott says patiently, looking down at his best friend. “Your first name sounds like a sneeze.”

The tech genius sobers immediately, straightening in his seat. “Point taken.” His gaze meets Liam’s. “Sorry, kid.”

The Boy Wonder shrugs, and Scott steps forward, easy grin sliding back onto his face. “If you’re feeling up to it, you might want to get dressed. We should have company in a few hours.”

He perks up. “Oh?”

His mentor nods. “All the way from Bludhaven,” he says, like it’s far.

 _That_ gets Liam moving. “Isaac’s coming?!”

* * *

The Red Hood’s had a lot of business to take care of since coming back to Beacon. Most of which has only been set in motion in the last forty-two hours. He doesn’t mind, though—it makes this reward that much sweeter, he thinks.

Reunions are a funny thing.

He’s known where the man was from almost the second he stepped foot in Beacon again, but he hasn’t allowed himself a moment until now. Too many things to do, with only himself to rely on. It doesn’t matter, though--it’s not like the guy’s going anywhere fast these days.

He scales the fence into Eichen, tossing two tiny discs from his jacket that stick onto the walls, right beneath the cameras. They flash once to indicate the feed is looped, and that he’s safe from prying eyes.

The keypad on the back door is easy enough to fool. A little jolt from a decryptor on his phone has it swinging open for him, and he slips inside quietly. His boots thud softly against the tiled floor as he moves through the building, ducking into alcoves and open doors to avoid Eichen staff. He hates the way this whole place smells—sterile and overly clean. It’s almost enough to make you forget about the screams.

Within minutes he’s navigated the map he’s got in his head, and comes to a stop in front of a closed door parked PRIVATE. He can see through the bars on the small window that the room’s occupant is home, and alone. He grins. It’s almost too easy.

He unlocks the door the same way as the gate and slides in on a whisper. The guy’s sitting by the window, head tilted to one side of his chair, eyes closed. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think the guy was sleeping. But he knows firsthand that monsters don’t sleep. At least, not this one.

The man’s eyes shoot open once he reaches the edge of the chair, fingers ghosting over the back of it. They widen up at him. “Who are you?”

“Hi, Marcel. It’s been some time, yeah?”

The old man’s eyes narrow. “Who are you?” He repeats, looking the intruder over. “Do I know you?”

“Inside and out!” He laughs, and he knows it’s a little manic by the way Marcel’s eyes dart for the door. Red Hood glances around the room once, then reaches up to pull his helmet off. He watches the recognition bloom, fester, and then nosedive into fear and confusion.

“What? That’s impossible—you’re dead!” Marcel hisses, and it sets him laughing again.

“And yet here I stand,” he grins, rubbing at the stubble on his jaw. It’s still a little sore from yesterday’s fight. The Boy Wonder sure packed a mean punch. “Nature’s scientific miracle. It’s what you three always wanted me to be, right?”

“How…” Marcel stares, jaw slack as his fingers dig into the arms of his chair. There’s a cold fury in his eyes that’s familiar to him, but no longer terrifying. Not the way it used to be, before.

“Guess you finally got one thing right, Doc,” Red Hood sneers, dropping down to eye level with the man. “It’s a shame you didn’t stick around to find out if your little experiment worked.”

“We blew up the lab.” He still sounds incredulous, disbelieving. The Red Hood understands, really. “And _you and your sister with it!”_

“About that…” His lips peel back in a vicious snarl as he steps closer, plunging the blade he’d been itching to use the last ten minutes into the man’s side. His old, grey eyes widen, and a breath croaks out of him. “Tara sends her regards.” His heat skips a beat as if in confirmation of his words and a weight lifts from him—from _her_ heart—as he watches the light fade from the Surgeon’s cold, lifeless eyes.

* * *

The glass in the cave is cold beneath his touch. Scott splays his fingers across the front of the display case, breath fogging it as he stands there, staring at the Robin suit inside. He remembers what it looked like brand new, hitting the streets for the first time at his side, and also coloured with blood on its last run. He remembers it in motion, flitting from rooftop to rooftop, and also shredded by surgical tools and an explosion.

He remembers the boy who proudly wore it, familiar smirk dancing on his lips.

He remembers burying him, when his mouth was cold and blue.

He remembers everything about Theo, from the day they met to the way things ended. Which means he remembers the way he used to move, and fight, and train. And the other night, Scott could’ve sworn…

“Hey.” A voice draws him from his memories, and he looks up, slightly startled, to see Isaac hovering in the shadows. He looks guilty that he’s interrupted.

“Hey,” Scott shakes it off, smiling at the sight of him. He motions him forward and draws him into a hug the second he’s at arm’s length. It settles every awful nerve in his body almost instantly, the way it used to. “I thought you weren’t getting in until later tonight.”

“Scott,” Isaac laughs, pulling away and knocking him on the shoulder. “It _is_ later.”

“Oh.” He blinks a few times, feels his cheek redden as he notices the blue and black duffel dumped on the ground next to his friend. He taps his watch and stares at the time reflected back at him. “I was supposed to pick you up at the airport.”

His old partner and protege snickers. “Yeah, she’s pretty pissed you forgot, but I’m cool with it.”

Scott groans. “You called her?”

The teasing smile turns almost wicked. “Stiles did.”

With another groan, he drags his hands down his face. “This is revenge for the sneeze thing.”

“The what thing?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Scott grumbles, motioning for him to follow. They step out of the memorial wing, and head for the platform that overlooks the training room. “Have you been to see Liam yet? He was pretty excited to hear you were dropping by when he woke, and he’ll want to introduce you to—”

A hand snags his wrist and pulls him to an abrupt stop. Slowly, he turns to see a worried look etched into Isaac’s angled features. The familiar way his brow crinkles and his blue eyes darken sends Scott back, but also set off several warning bells he was trying to avoid.

A fact that the _first_ Boy Wonder would know all too well.

“Scott,” Isaac starts, eyes softening. “As anxious as I am to see the others—you called me. You asked said you needed my help, and I came. You can’t expect that not to be the first thing I want to talk about. _Especially_ since whatever it is has you so preoccupied you lost track of several hours.”

He leans closer, breath ghosting over Scott’s skin as he gives him a cursory sniff, then recoils, making a face. “During which you probably should have showered.”

“Hey!” Scott yells, smacking the other man’s arm.

Isaac squeezes, fingers digging into his once-mentor’s skin, but not hard enough to hurt. “What’s going on?”

It’s a long, drawn-out moment where he debates opening up or not. But really, this is why he called Isaac--he’s the only other person that can handle it. It’d be silly to ignore that. Sighing, Scott pulls him slowly towards the railing. “The other night, at the docks, we ran into some trouble intercepting a shipment from Black Mask.”

“Gerard?” Isaac hisses, eyes narrowing, but Scott shakes his head.

“No, it wasn’t him. His guys were easy. But while we were inspecting the cargo, a bomb went off--set off by a mystery player.” Scott leans against the railing, feeling the cool metal beneath his skin, and looks down at his team. On the mats below, Corey and Liam are facing off, sparring despite the fact that the latter’s been back on his feet less than a day. Mason’s sitting next to a whiteboard, keeping score. “Calls himself the Red Hood. We tailed him, but had trouble keeping up. Liam was faster, like he always is, and caught up enough to engage the guy.”

“Alone?” He can hear how careful Isaac’s tone is.

Scott nods, closing his eyes and dropping his head between his shoulders. “It’s how he was injured. He took a fair beating before Corey and I showed up.”

Isaac’s touch is soothing as his hand coils around his forearm. “Scott, you can’t blame yourself. Any of us would have done the same in his position.”

He sees the sympathy in his former partner’s eyes when he looks up, and for a brief moment, Scott remembers that Isaac— _Nightwing,_ he thinks with a grin—is not just Bludhaven’s solo hero these days; he’s a leader, too. The burden of being responsible for a team, for the lives of your friends—that’s something they share now.

“I know,” he breathes. “But it’s not what’s bothering me. Liam held him off until Corey and I got there...but it wasn’t enough. The guy beat us both and got away.”

Isaac’s brows rise beneath his curly locks. “Seriously?”

“The way he evaded us...the tricks he used to keep us on our toes and stay one step ahead…” He bites his lip to keep from saying it, exhaling through his nose. “It’s the same things I was taught. The same things I taught you, or that I’m teaching them.” He waves a hand to the training room below, and then his shoulders tense. “The same things I taught Theo.”

The name instantly sets Isaac on alert. His posture stiffens, and his knees lock up straight, bringing him to his full height. But his eyes never leave Scott’s. He’s quiet for several breaths. “I haven’t heard that name in a long time.”

“Neither of us have,” he admits, and the words are heavy.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost, Scott.”

“Maybe I have.”

“Theo’s dead.”

“I know.”

“We buried him three years ago. Whatever was left of him.”

“ _I_ _know_.”

Isaac’s blue eyes flicker across his face for a moment, searching, before his gaze spending several agonizing seconds drifting back towards the memorial room. He swears just as colourfully as Scott remembers. “This is why you called me, isn’t it?”

He exhales the breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. “Yes. Yes it is.”

“Fuck,” he says again, and his sigh sounds wearier than he looks as he leans back, elbows propped against the railing. His hip presses against Scott’s. “When you mentioned the kid was hurt, and there’d been trouble with Black Mask, I thought…”

He tilts his head back, gazing down at the youth in question as he flips Corey over his shoulder and onto the mat, grinning. “I thought you were going to tell me he made a mistake, the way Hayden did. _Because_ she did.”

“No, he’s…,” Scott tapers off, smile affectionate as he picks back up a moment later. “He’s been grieving for Spoiler the only way he knows how—by working.”

Isaac snorts. “If that’s not Bat methodology at it’s finest.”

“Any of that working into your new team, by chance?” he throws the former Boy Wonder a grin.

He sees the tilt to Isaac’s head when he realizes he’s deflecting, and the curve at the corner of his lips. “You know you can’t just change the subject like that with me, right?”

“We’ll come back to it, I promise,” Scott waves him off. “So, the Titans?”

“They’re great,” Isaac grins, ear to ear. There’s a sudden sparkle in his eyes. “Erica—Wonder Girl—she’s fantastic. She’s witty, and clever, and packs one hell of a punch. And Boyd? That’s—That’s Kid Flash. His speed is _incredible_. He doesn’t say much, but when he does, it’s invaluable. And Red Arrow, well…”

“Jackson’s always going to be Jackson,” Scott laughs, and the other man joins in, nodding.

“He’s a pain in my ass, but he’s always got my back. Leading my own team is—God, I can see why you do it, Scott.”

He beams proudly, before softening a little. “And Superman?”

Isaac snorts. “Derek’s fine, as always. Wishes you would visit more often.”

Before Scott can respond, someone’s clearing their throat behind him. They both turn to see Stiles wheeling up to them, tablet in hand. “Sorry to interrupt,” he says, wincing. “But I’ve got news. From Eichen.”

Scott raises a brow, and Stiles sighs, nodding. “It happened last night.”

“What did?” Isaac frowns, eyes flicking between the two of them.

“The other night, after our encounter with the Red Hood, I had Stiles set up flags in Eichen’s system. For anything involving Marcel Valet, the last remaining Dread Doctor.”

He watches the name register in Isaac’s eyes before he opens his mouth to continue, but Stiles beats him to it, flipping his screen to face them. “And one just went off, indicating that he was found this morning in his room, stabbed. His time of death is last night, but there’s no trace of anyone ever having been his room after lock up.”

“Shit,” Isaac whistles, and both of them nod.

Scott scuffs his foot against the cement floor, groaning a little. It draws both their eyes to him, and when he glances up at his former partner, he’s smiling shyly. “How mad did you say she was?”

For the second time that night, Isaac’s brows disappear into his hairline. “Pretty mad. But, really, when isn’t she?”

“Good thing I have you, then.” The smile turns coy very quickly.

Isaac mock-gasps in response. “Are you using me as a _buffer,_  Bats?”

He merely shrugs, pushing off the railing and heading for the showers. “Be ready in ten!”

Isaac’s nose wrinkles at the order, but there’s a light in his eyes. He notices Stiles staring, and gives him a cursory glance. “What?”

“Nothing, just funny to see some things never change,” he snickers. “Tell my wife I say hi, yeah?”

“You saw her last night!” Scott yells from the other room, and Stiles curses his excellent hearing. “I heard that, too!”

Isaac doubles over, laughing, while Stiles mutters under his breath, turning red in the face. He spins his chair around, wheeling away at a faster pace than he’d come. He pauses a few strokes out, looking back over his shoulder. “Hey,” he says, catching the other man’s attention. “It’s good to have you back, Nightwing.”

The first Boy Wonder grins. “Thanks, Oracle.”

* * *

This place has always freaked him out, from the very first moment he saw it years ago, and every damn time since. Somehow, being deserted and shut down makes it even worse.

Their voices echo in the cavern around them as they step through it, and Scott briefly regrets asking all the Birds to come, given that three out of four wear shoes that _clack_ loudly against the stone floor of the ziggurat. Strolling alongside them with just a bit of a bounce in his step, he’s pretty sure Isaac’s trying _very_ hard not to grin.

“It’s sealed,” Kira says, motioning to the large, empty basin before them. “You can see that.”

“Yes,” Scott nods, and he doesn’t need to see her face behind her rounded white and red mask to know she’s probably rolling her eyes. “I see that.”

“Physically sealed, for what looks like years,” she continues, fingers gripping tightly at the soul-sword in her right hand. “And it shows no evidence of having any mystical properties around it to suggest it’s been altered.”

“So you say.” Scott regrets the words the second they’re out of his mouth. Kira looks offended, but the other three instantly take on very different shades of pissed.

Malia steps forward, snarling as she places herself between him and Kira, blocking the short woman from sight. “So she _says_ ?” The muscles on her left arm twist her tattoos this way and that as she clenches her fist. Scott notices the way her fingers twitch, inches from the guns tucked into hip-holsters, and he brings his hands up in defense. “She _knows_. _You_ sealed them all up.”

Kira nods, confirming. “There aren’t any left, Scott.”

“I know, I just…,” he trails off, looking at the large, empty pool again. He takes one step down, imagining the cool water it once contained lapping at his boots, and then another, before sitting back his haunches. His fingers press gently against the stone floor.

Purple coattails brush softly against his shoulder as someone sits down to his left, and a moment later, Allison’s gentle voice sounds in his ear. “What’s going on, Scott? Why’d you drag us all the way out here to look at one of Peter’s Lazarus Pits?”

He doesn’t look up to answer her. He’s sure if he did, he’d see the sneer on Malia’s lips that matches the growl she just let loose at the mention of her father. “He spent centuries rejuvenating himself, lengthening his life span by immersing himself in these baths.”

“Right.” He sees her ponytail bob out of the corner of his eye as she nods. “Until we destroyed them all to stop him.”

“We didn’t seal this one, though,” Scott says, and he carefully drags his gaze back up to her. Her brown eyes are bright in the firelight, and filled with a familiar concern. “So I wanted to see it.”

“Why?” Allison’s voice is barely above a whisper.

He doesn’t respond. Instead, he pushes himself to stand, dusting off his cloak. With an exasperated sigh, Allison follows suit.

It’s Isaac that asks, in the end. “Can the Lazarus Pit raise the dead?”

They watch as all four women stiffen. Malia makes a face, Kira frowns thoughtfully, and Allison and Lydia exchange looks. The latter speaks first.

“What is it that’s got you and Stiles so spooked, Scott?”

He ignores that, too. “Malia?” When she only glares at the ground instead of responding, he turns to the woman holding her hand, instead. “Kira?”

“No,” she says softly. “It rejuvenates the living.”

“Is that a theory, or is it fact?”

The two women exchange glances, and Malia shrugs noncommittally. “I guess it’s a fact, but… well, it’s what my father always said. So… it makes it theory.”

Allison steps forward, drawing Scott’s attention again. There’s a hard set to her shoulders, and her lips are pursed, but there’s a line of concern wrinkled into her forehead. “Scott, Isaac,” she looks at each of them in turn, tone pleading. “The Birds of Prey are not your enemies. You know that. So tell us what the hell’s going on, so we can _help_.”

The two men look to one another, and the taller one cracks first, shrugging. Scott sighs, nodding, because he knows they’re right. The more opinions he has about the situation from people he trusts—people who remember the ghost that’s haunting him—the better.

* * *

“You sure you’re okay to be out patrolling?” Corey whispers, sticking close to him as they duck along the catwalk.

“I’m fine, Spectre.” Liam nods, not trusting himself to look at his partner. “We need to be out here while Batman’s away, looking for clues.”

He figures between the _work voice_ and the codename, it’ll tell the other boy to drop it. But tonight’s not his night for luck.

“Are you _sure_ it’s not just because you’re upset he took off with Nightwing before any of us got to see him?”

Liam’s lips press together in a thin line. “Nope. Not upset at all.”

“Mm _hmm_.”

“Shut up.”

They’re both snickering by the time they’re close enough to hear the goons they’ve been tailing all night. The warehouse below them is dingy and pretty gross, but he focuses on the two groups meeting in the middle to exchange a duffel bag. “It feels light,” the one that picked it up is saying.

The boys let them argue about it for several long, agonizing minutes before Liam’s had enough. He glances at Corey, who nods, tapping his temple once before vanishing from sight. _Ready when you are._

“I’ve got a better idea,” Liam says, propping one boot on the railing and bracing his arm against a rafter. “You morons hand over the drugs, and I’ll just kick your asses a _little_.”

Of the six goons that look up at him, three draw guns, while two seem to recognize him and their eyes widen in fear. The idiot with the duffel bag speaks first. “Shit, really? Robin?” He looks at the guys he’s with. “Well, what are you waiting for?! Shoot him!”

“Suit yourselves,” Liam shrugs, and then launches himself off the catwalk at them.

Corey lands a moment before he does, materializing out of thin air and cracking two of their heads together before lunging for Duffel Bag. Liam focuses on the other three, snagging his hands around one’s head as soon as his feet hit the ground. He uses him as leverage to bounce right back up, knocking his boots into one guy’s jaw and the other guy’s stomach.

Their weapons clatter to the floor, and their unconscious asses follow suit.

He swings around, pressing his knee hard into the first guy’s back and sending him face-first into the cement. The Boy Wonder twists his arm back and up, not quite hard enough to pop his shoulder from it’s socket, but certainly enough to hurt as he kneels on him. They came here for answers, and he trusts that Corey’s safely dispatched his guys already, so since he’s got the guy in such a nice hold...

“You’re breaking my arm, you little shit!”

“Yeah, that’s kind of the point,” Liam grins, leaning closer to him. “But hey, you tell me who you’re working for, and this all stops, yeah?”

All he gets is a muted yell, blocked by clenched teeth. Liam rolls his eyes, pulling harder with his hands, but pushing down with his knee until the guy’s face kisses the ground. “C’mon, dude, do you _want_ me to dislocate your shoulder? Just tell me.”

“Robin.” He hears Corey call him, but it doesn’t sound panicked or distressed, so he ignores it. Whatever it is, it can wait.

“Are you local, or are you working for Black Mask?” The name feels bitter on his tongue.

“I can’t tell you.” Finally, he speaks! Although it sounds a little wet, and Liam glances around his boot to see the guy’s crying now, tears leaking all over the pavement. “ _Please_. He’ll kill me, _please_ , I’m—”

“ _Robin_.” Corey says again, this time more insistently. Liam’s eyes flicker up to see what he wants, and his heart drops into the pit of his stomach.

The Red Hood stands behind his partner, one hand wrapped around his throat while the other presses a gun against Corey’s temple. The other boy’s eyes are wide and a little panicked, and Liam feels his throat dry up. “Fuck.”

“Fancy meeting you here, Little Bird.” He motions with two fingers beneath Corey’s chin to the guy Liam’s strong-arming. “Loyalty like that is hard to come by. Good to know fear works just as well as money.”

The Boy Wonder glances down, then back up. “Please,” the guy beneath him cries. “He told you so just—just let me go, yeah?”

Liam runs through the scenarios as quickly as possible in his head before making a decision, watching every second he wastes thinking about it trickle by in Corey’s eyes. “I will if you will.”

A laugh echoes out of the helmet. “A fair trade.” He dips his head forward, stage-whispering. “Though I’m sure you know I’m letting go of much more value, here.”

He doesn’t rise to it. Instead, Liam steps back, relinquishing his hold on the dealer. He watches as the guy tucks his arm into himself, whimpering, and then moves to stand, slowly. He’s so attentive, in fact, that he spots the flash of silver tucked between the folds of his sweatpants.

The guy’s not even fully on his feet before Liam moves to intercept, bringing his elbow up and jamming it hard against his temple. The dealer drops like a rock, knife clattering to the floor, and the Boy Wonder steps back from him, eyes returning to the real threat.

He holds his breath as he waits for the Red Hood’s hold on Corey to loosen. Those precious seconds feel like the longest in his life.

A moment later, he’s rewarded with the sound of his partner inhaling sharply as the fingers around his throat let go. He takes a step forward, and then the Red Hood’s arm moves so quickly Liam almost misses it. He slams the butt of the gun against the back of Corey’s head, and then the boy’s stumbling towards him, eyes rolling back into his head.

“Spectre!” Liam shouts, and it takes every shred of self-control he’s got to make his brain and mouth agree on the codename instead of his real name. Panic seizes his throat as he darts forward, catching Corey before he hits the ground.

It’s replaced by anger as his friend leans against him, unmoving, and his eyes flicker up to the Red Hood. “What the fuck did you do that for?”

“Fair’s fair,” he shrugs, pointing the gun at his downed thug. “Besides, I’m here for you tonight, not him.”

Liam’s sure the glare he’s sporting is only accentuated by the domino mask. He’s even more certain when he’s rewarded with a deep laugh. “Relax, Little Bird. He’s in a far better state than you were our last rendezvous.”

“Fuck you,” the Boy Wonder hisses. “This isn’t a game, you asshole.”

“To you, perhaps.” He holsters the gun, crosses his arms as he looks down at Liam. At least, that’s what Liam assumes. He hates it when villains have excessive masks like this guy. “To me, it’s… a hypothesis.”

“A what?” Liam blinks. He hadn’t been expecting that.

“Not a science guy, are you?” He can hear the amusement in the Red Hood’s tone, no matter how digitized it is.

“History,” he shrugs, even though he knows Scott wouldn’t approve. He doesn’t think something so small and generic about himself matters, though.

“I’m impressed.” Is he… is he _flirting_ with him?

“I didn’t ask you to be,” Liam spits.

“And yet here I am.” The Red Hood throws his arms wide, chuckling. He tilts his head, an effect that looks sort of funny given the helmet. “Y’know, it’s funny. When I got here, you looked ready to break that guy in half.”

“I was intimidating him,” Liam says, shrugging. But he knows from the guilt bubbling his throat like bile that’s not the case. He’s been volatile for months, which is why Scott doesn’t usually let him do the questioning like this. Not anymore.

“Your partner had a look that said different. I’m not sure he was comfortable with your moves.”

“We came here looking for answers, and I was getting them.”

“About me? Little Bird, I’m flattered, but you could have just asked.”

The Boy Wonder scowls at everything from the nickname to the tone of voice he’s now _certain_ is flirtatious. “About Black Mask, and the shipment you blew up the other night.”

“Inconsequential,” he waves a hand in the air. He crosses his arms again, and Liam notes the way it pulls the leather jacket tighter around his shoulders. “Your willingness to do whatever it takes to get results is heartwarming, y’know. It means we’re not so different.”

“Don’t do that,” Liam snaps, shaking his head. “Don’t _say_ that.”

“Oh, but if only you knew…,” and he swears he can hear the smirk in it this time. “I can see why Scott chose you as a replacement.”

Liam’s blood runs cold.

There are so many red flags staring him in the face and warning bells going off in his head that he’s not sure what to do. It mounts a rising panic that claws it’s way up his throat.

“What did you just say?” The words comes out far louder than Liam probably intended when he hears it echo in the warehouse around them. The Red Hood _tsks_ him, and then chuckles. “Who…Who _are_ you?”

“Ask Scott. I’m sure he’s figured it out by now. _World’s Greatest Detective_ and all that.”

Liam glares, bites at his bottom lip as he chooses his next words carefully. With his temper at a record high, it’s incredibly difficult to stay focused on weighing the pros and cons when all he wants to do is beat this guy with his own fists. And possibly a chair. “Scott’s not here,” he finally grates out through clenched teeth.

“Ah, flew the coop, huh?” The Red Hood asks, and he doesn’t even sound phased, like he knew. “Probably calling in favors to convince himself he doesn’t know what’s happening here.”

Against his better judgement, Liam still asks: “And what’s that?”

“A haunting.” The words leave a cold feeling in the pit of Liam’s stomach that he’s not sure how he feels about. But lucky for him, he’s about to have plenty of time, because the Red Hood is suddenly three paces back from where he’d been, and rapidly slipping away from him.

 _No no no. Shit._ If he escapes again, Scott’s going to kick his ass. Hell, _Corey’s_ probably going to kick his ass, and then hold him down while Mason does it, too. He scrambles to his feet, but sort of forgets that one of the aforementioned friends is still dead weight in his arms, and he falls back on his ass, hitting the pavement hard.

“Hey, Little Bird?” his voice sounds way creepier when he’s fading into the shadows and it’s echoing through the warehouse. “Ask him about Marcel Valet.”

* * *

“There are many ways to raise the dead,” Deucalion says patiently, eyes scanning over Scott’s suit first, and then Isaac’s. He looks impressed with neither. “None of them are particularly good.”

Isaac can’t help but feel the comment’s relevant, but also a little backhanded, and he glowers. Scott, meanwhile, steps closer to the man they’ve come to see, pulling a random book about the occult off the shelf and leafing through it. Deucalion approaches, frowning as he plucks it from Scott’s gloves and puts it back where it belongs.

“The simplest is _the night walkers,_  commonly known as zombies. They live, but not well. It’s not like you’d want to have dinner with any of them.”

“We know what zombies are, old man,” Isaac rolls his eyes.

Scott sends him a warning look. “Are there more difficult ways? With better results?”

“Yes,” Deucalion nods. “Several. But they require meticulous planning. Years of it. To both practice _and_ execute. And in almost every case, it would require the _raiser_ to have access to the deceased shortly _after_ their death.”

The former Dynamic Duo exchange looks.

“There are flukes, of course. Just look at your friend Red Arrow.”

At this, Isaac perks up, frowning. “What about him?”

“He was dead and buried for months,” Deucalion shrugs. “If you wanted to start somewhere, I’d say start with him.”

Scott groans, and a ghost of a smile graces Isaac’s lips. They were _hoping_ to avoid Jackson.

* * *

“Mason, I’m _sorry_ ,” Liam says for what can only be the millionth time that day. They’re alone in the central hub of the cave, his best friend seated at Stiles’ computer chair with his arms crossed, looking for all the world like he’d rather be anywhere else. Oracle is staying at the Clocktower tonight, and Spectre, well…

He’s avoiding Liam entirely, staying locked in his room to keep the Boy Wonder from going out on patrol. Because as stubborn as he is, at least Liam won’t disobey a house rule to always have a partner.

“I’m sorry, okay?” He pleads again, practically hanging off the other boy’s arm. “I messed up the other night, and it was scary. For you, for Corey—but for me too, alright? I’ve never—I’m not usually responsible for anyone else out there and—”

“That’s bullshit, Liam, and you know it!” Mason snaps, and it stings, but it’s the first word he’s said to him all night, so that’s gotta count for something. “You guys are _always_ responsible for each other when you’re out there. On an op, on simple patrol— _always_. That’s what having a partner is about, to watch each other’s backs.”

“I know, and I didn’t have his,” Liam sighs, sliding the rest of the way to the floor at Mason’s side, head in his hand. “I was too focused, obsessed. It made me careless. And when I looked up to see the Hood had him, I—”

His voice cracks, and the rest of his sentence dies in his throat.

It takes careful, soothing strokes of Mason’s hand between his shoulder blades to coax it back three minutes later. “You know I can’t lose anyone else, Mase. Not you, or Corey, or Scott. Not after—” he name catches behind his lips, refuses to roll the rest of the way down his tongue. A wave of nausea hits him, and his head dips a little further to rest between his knees.

“I know, Liam,” he says softly. “I forgive you.”

The words are echoed by another voice, and Liam’s head whips up to see Corey, standing awkwardly at the edge of the central hub. One arm is tucked behind the other, and his head’s slightly tilted as he looks down at the Boy Wonder.

A spike of hope sends the feeling his stomach packing, and he perks up. “You mean it?” He looks between them both, and they smile almost as one.

“Of course. We wouldn’t be a team if we couldn’t,” Corey says, stepping closer. Liam jumps to his feet, fingers squeezing Mason’s shoulder before he throws himself at his partner, smothering Corey in a hug.

“How are you feeling?” He asks, and he feels the other boy’s laugh.

“Much better, now.”

“Good,” he pulls back, grinning. “Because I need you to convince Mason to hack into the batcomputer.”

Corey’s brows shoot up into his hairline, and Mason groans. “Is _that_ what you two are doing down here while Stiles is home, safely tucked into bed with his super-wife?”

“I keep telling you I don’t have to _hack_ anything—I have my own login. We all do. Mine just happens to have more access than yours,” Mason says, like this really is the umpteeth time he’s had to say this. And he says it smugly, too.

“And I’m _telling_ you, the file I’m after is blocked. I’m sure it’s going to blocked on your login, too,” Liam says, matter-of-factly. “So you’re going to need to crack it.”

“And what file is this, exactly?” Corey asks, frowning.

“Marcel Valet.”

“Who?”

“That’s what I said,” Mason says.

Liam rolls his eyes, grabbing Corey and crowding them behind Mason’s back, forcing him to look up at the screens. “Now that you’re both here, I can tell you.” And he braces for impact with a wince. “It’s the name the Red Hood gave me.”

“What?”

“Like, for _himself_?”

“He doesn’t sound French.”

“What do you know? He’s using a voice modulator.”

“Guys! Focus!” Liam barks, back in work mode, and they both quiet immediately. He exhales, then turns a serious look up at the computer. “He knew Scott’s identity, okay?” And he holds up a hand to stop the incoming tide of questions that will surely be worse than the last. “I don’t know what it means for _us_ , but I know he implied that it means Scott should know _him_ , too. And the only thing I’ve got in relation to that is that name. He told me to ask Scott about him, but, well… why do that when we can ask his computer, yeah?”

Neither friend looks very impressed with him, but Mason’s fingers start clicking keys after a moment, so he must have said something that worked. He counts it as a victory.

Within moments, images and documents fill the screens, and all three boys have to spend a couple of minutes going over them. _The Surgeon. One of three Dread Doctors. Former Eichen Asylum staff. Torture in the form of experimentation. Searching for the perfect mix between nature and science—a miracle_.

Eventually they hit a file from three years ago that’s almost completely blacked out, and Mason only tries to crack it twice before he stops trying. “You _know_ Stiles is going to have this set to an alarm or something.”

“What? But it’s from three years ago!”

“Then why’s the newest entry from four _days_ ago?”

“What?” Liam blinks, eyes searching the screens to find whatever Mason’s talking about. His best friend helpfully blows it up in full for him. “Is that—?”

“A death certificate from Eichen dated the night you guys met the Red Hood? Sure is.”

“What the fuck,” Liam whispers, stepping back and furrowing his brows together. “If this guy’s already dead, then what’s he got to do with it?”

* * *

“I’m not sure what you’re getting at, McCall,” Jackson says, hip cocked against the wall, leaning slightly on his bow. “You were _there_ when I came back. You _know_ what happened. I was dead… and then I came back.”

“I know,” Scott nods, thanking the cowl for his ability to watch his cape billow in the wind, while Jackson probably thinks he’s looking at him. “Still.”

“Still, _what_?” He sounds exasperated, and shoots a look at Isaac that says at much. “You know it all. You remember the broad strokes, or do I need to remind you of those, too?”

The pause Scott takes is apparently long enough for the other man to decide. “I died. There was heaven, or a _version_ of it, I guess. Danny gave his gift to me, and then I decided to return.”

“You weren’t involved in any aspect of the occult before you died, were you? Prepared for death?” He knows the answer already, but has to ask, has to be sure.

Jackson’s eyes nearly bug out of his head. Scott’s pretty sure he can see a vein the size of his Porsche on his neck, ready to burst. “I swear to _God_ , McCall, if you don’t start asking questions that don’t make me want to die _again_ —I’m going to shove an arrow so far up your ass you’ll have to go through what I did just to get it _out_.”

“Alright, alright!” Scott backs away from him, grinning despite his better judgement.

“Are we done here?” He asks, and Scott blinks, because while the tone is still very much Jackson—the Red Arrow spin to it is different. He realizes this because the question isn't directed at him, but at Isaac.

“Yeah, that’s all the questions we had,” Nightwing nods.

“Thank fuck,” Jackson mutters, stomping away to rejoin Wonder Girl and Kid Flash, who were waiting at the door to Titan Tower for him. “Please take another year to visit again!”

Scott scowls, but Isaac nearly doubles over with laughter.

“Actually, please don’t,” a voice says, and the two men spin to see a familiar face standing—err, _floating_ not three feet away. His red cape’s billowing in the wind he’s standing in, and his arms are crossed tightly over his chest, somewhat obscuring the S. “I keep saying you need to visit _more_.”

“Derek,” Scott grins, and the meta steps down at the edge of the roof. They meet halfway, and as he does nearly every time, Superman squeezes just a bit too hard and almost cracks one of his ribs. “Dude!”

“Never gets old,” he smirks, patting him on the back and looking between them. “So, to what do I owe the pleasure, and are you staying long enough that I can tell Braeden to finally order those theatre tickets?”

The instant Scott’s face darkens, Derek’s shoulders drop. “That’d be a no, then.”

“We need to talk.”

“She’s gonna be pissed,” he sighs, before motioning for them both to follow him. Clearly, while he thinks Titan Tower was appropriate for their previous conversation, he’s decided otherwise for theirs.

In a few minutes they’re on the roof of the Daily Planet, and they’ve explained all they can. From what’s got them on edge, to what they need from him.

“I’m not sure I understand,” Derek frowns.

“We just need to know,” Isaac says.

“You do know—both of you. You were there,” he shrugs. “What else is there? You know as well as anyone, Scott, that after I fought Doomsday…I wasn’t exactly _dead_. I was in a state that mirrored death.”

“We don’t actually know that,” Scott points out, voice positive. “It just what we’ve always told ourselves to make sense of it all.”

“Because that’s so much better?” Isaac snorts, and they both shoot him a look. It’s an argument they’ve had plenty of times before, and he’s certain this won’t be their last. “Than just admitting the truth that you were dead and you came back to life? Screw science or logic, right?”

“I don’t agree,” Derek says, the same way he always does. “But even _still_. We’ve seen it happen before. Peter. Jackson. Kate. It’s not _science_ , it’s…”

He tapers off, and they all stare at one another, at a loss. _What does this mean_?

* * *

He doesn’t know how he convinced Corey, Mason and Stiles to let him patrol alone tonight. He supposes it helps that the first two had date night, and that the Birds are on standby if he needs them. The latter part certainly soothed Stiles’ nerves, at least. And then, of course, had excited him, because the prospect of his wife showing up and saving the day by unleashing her Canary Cry on a bunch of thugs was too good for him.

Thankfully, though, he hasn’t needed any help so far. He’s done a perfectly adequate job of tracking down Black Mask’s thugs on his own, and tailing them back to their hideout.

And then watching four of them play cards for two fucking hours. While he listens for any hint or possible clue to what their boss is up to.

Or, more accurately, what their boss’s biggest competitor has done recently.

The clock is ticking dangerously close to the three hour mark when the idiots finally start talking about something he can _use_. He flicks the recorder in his gauntlet on, and pulls himself up into a crouch on the catwalk, peering down below.

“I’m fed up with this garbage!” Big Bluff (because Liam has been here long enough to know how they play poker, but not something useful like their fucking _names_ ) shouts, throwing his hand into the garbage pile and losing all the chips he’d bet. “We threw in with Black Mask—”

“You say that like we had a _choice_ ,” says Quick Folder, restacking her chips.

“Either way, we answer to Black Mask, alright? We kick up a cut of _everything_ we bring in and in return—”

“This Red Hood psycho keeps _icing_ our guys.”

“Fuck, fine. So what do you want to do? Make a _deal_ with the Red Hood?” Big Bluff groans.

Tracksuit (the final guy playing who’s been quiet all game, and also so scattered in his plays that Liam hasn’t been able to lock him down) leans forward, elbows on the table. “I had these five runners who worked Kellington Avenue over by the high school. They weren’t big-shot gangsters. They were _morons_ who ran some nickel and dime drugs. _Dumb_ , but decent earners.” His upper lip curls in disgust as he spits the words at them. “They were _decapitated_ last week.”

Liam’s breath catches the moment he hears a pair of boots thud onto the catwalk beside him. He knows none of the idiots below him have noticed, and he’s sure that the only reason he has is because the Red Hood _wants_ him to.

He turns sideways to face him, and finds him standing barely three feet away, fists clenched, shoulders stiff. He doesn’t know why, but he waits for him to speak first. “Those _morons_ of his…,” he growls, and it’s low and vicious, barely altered by the voice changer in his mask. “They were selling drugs to _twelve-year-olds_.”

Liam blinks at him. Not only because he’s surprised by the statement itself, but also by the _fury_ laced in them. Like it’s personally offensive to him, and that’s why they deserved what happened to him. While they’d have to disagree on the punishment, Liam certainly agrees that they deserved _something_.

He’s saved from the reminder of four little words that the Red Hood spoke to him last time they’d met by new ones, far closer in the present. “Hi,” he grunts, half turning to look at the Boy Wonder. “I thought I felt my ears burning.”

Liam straightens, hands balling into fists. He watches the Red Hood look from him, down to the goons below, and back. And then, he surprises him again.

He sidles closer to the Boy Wonder, dropping into a crouch and giving him his entire back as he leans forward to peer over the edge of the catwalk. “So,” he says, conversationally. “What have I missed? Aside from the fact that these boys would love to have my _head_ on a pike?”

And there’s something almost familiar about the tone, the playful way it’s said, that Liam finds himself dropping into a crouch beside him. His hands splay out on the grate beneath them, bracing his weight. “Mostly. They want to know why the Black Mask hasn’t taken you out himself. And so do I, honestly.”

“Well,” the Red Hood says, and he can hear the short huff of breath beneath his mask at this proximity. “I guess that tells us I’m either very _lucky_ , or very _good_. Which one do you think?”

Liam’s sure that by the flirtatious tone he _knows_ he isn’t imagining this time, he should probably choose his next words carefully. “I think Black Mask only gets his hands dirty when it’s something huge, and you’re not quite there yet.”

He smirks, only to rethink his entire sentence when he hears the laugh coming out of the mask that’s a little louder than is probably safe. He feels color stain his cheeks. “I didn’t mean—that’s not—”

He clamps his mouth shut to keep it from getting any worse. Luckily, once the laughter fades and his shoulders stop shaking with it, the idiots haven’t moved on. “Either way,” the Red Hood starts, “I seem to have made myself an enemy of _all_ the bad guys.”

Liam’s not quite sure how to approach that one, so he lets it go.

A shoulder knocks against his, and he looks to where the Red Hood is pointing at. Quick Folder. “The gal on the left, that’s Cross. She’s running what’s left of the east side traffic. The guy next to her?” He presses a little closer, motioning to Big Bluff. “That’s Schrader. He’s more of a distribution kind of guy. He prefers being street muscle, but I don’t think Black Mask likes him as a soldier. He’s got a bit of a temper.”

“And Tracksuit?” Liam asks, almost cursing himself for letting it slip. He sees the pause as the helmet turns to him, tilts slightly, and then continues.

“Tracksuit is our final piece of garbage, “ Red Hood says, and Liam can hear the smile in his voice. “That would be Brunski. Started out as an orderly at Eichen with a passion for being heavy-handed. Got fired for it, and then fell in love with narcotics on the outside. And kids.”

Liam’s blood boils. “You seem pretty informed.”

“I’d say it’s because I keep my ear to the ground, but honestly they make more noise than a bull in a china shop.” The Red Hood stands, stretching. “So, you wanna help me take them down?”

The Boy Wonder blinks. “What?” He stands to meet him.

“I’m going to hop down there and kick all sorts of hell out of three dirtbags who prey on kids for money,” he shrugs, and toys with a small air canister in his right hand. “Figured that was something you might want to get in on.”

Liam hesitates, wishing for all the world that he could see under the helmet and see his face. It’d help him get a better read on the guy. Instead, he’s left with a jumble of confusing thoughts and more questions than answers.

“On one condition,” he says stiffly.

“I’m all ears, Little Bird.”

Liam’s right eye twitches, and he resists the urge to make it _two_ conditions. “No one dies.”

There’s a beat, where the Red Hood rolls the canister in his hands, seemingly thinking it over. Then, he shrugs. “It’s up to you.” And then he tosses it over the edge.

It lands on the table below, and explodes, spraying cards and poker chips everywhere. It knocks them out of their chairs, and fills the whole area with smoke. Liam’s domino mask adjusts, flickering into sonar mode, and he grins. “Why the hell not?”

The Red Hood claps a hand to his shoulder. “Atta boy.”

And then they’re swinging over the edge.

Once on solid ground, they weave in and out of the smoke and shadows, together. In just a few heartbeats, they fall into sync. When he dodges a punch, the Red Hood’s swinging back at the attacker. When he moves, fist flying, the target’s already bumped and stumbling in his direction.

It feels like fighting alongside Scott or Corey. Natural, instinctive, like they know all the same moves and don’t need to talk about how they come together. He flips over the Hood’s back, knees coiled tightly, and slams his boots into Tracksuit’s chest, sending him sprawling as the smoke clears.

And they find themselves surrounded by a dozen more guys with guns.

“Shit,” Liam curses, stepping back. His back presses against the Red Hood’s, and both of them bring their fists up.

“I could’ve sworn I took out the guys covering the door,” he says, _hmm_ -ing. “I must have missed a few.”

“You _think_?” Liam snaps.

And then gunfire starts.

Instantly, they’re on the move and airborne, diving between the spray of bullets. The Red Hood drops another air canister from his belt, and smoke starts to fill the room as they fight back. “Keep moving!” He shouts, and then laughs when a punch ricochets off his helmet.

“Glad you’re enjoying yourself!” Liam rolls his eyes, kicking someone that looks distinctly like Tracksuit in the face.

“Sure!” He calls through the smoke, and two guys go flying past Liam, skidding across the ground. “Aren’t you?”

He is, but there’s no way he’s saying that out loud. “Make for the door!” Liam says instead.

“Right behind you!”

And he is. The second Liam’s kicked down the exit, there’s a hand on his lower back, pushing him through it. A bullet whizzes past his head, and then he’s on the ground, a body covering his. A split-second later, an explosion rocks the earth beneath them and levels the entire warehouse behind them.

“No!” Liam shouts, unable to move as the Red Hood’s body pins him down. Debris goes flying overhead, splattering on the pavement around them. “I thought you said we were doing this my way!”

“That wasn’t me,” he grunts somewhere near Liam’s ear. The pressure on his lungs relents as the other boy rolls off of him, dropping on his back. His shoulder’s still touching him, and Liam can feel him panting, hard.

“No,” a voice says, and his pulse ices. He knows that voice, and the familiarity brings a wave of nausea rolling through his stomach. The Boy Wonder looks up to see Black Mask standing there, in full three piece suit, a detonator in one stupid, wrinkled hand, and a sub-machine gun in the other. “That one was me.”

The heat from the burning warehouse is uncomfortable at his back as Liam pushes himself up, to his knees. To his right, the Red Hood looks worse off. He’s on his knees, but he’s hunched forward, hands on the pavement. His shoulders are shaking, slightly, and the back of his leather jacket looks a little burnt.

“I hear you’ve been looking for me, Robin,” the old man drawls, flipping the detonator around in his hand. “I must say, I was a little surprised you’d want anything to do with me after Miss Rome—”

“Shut up,” Liam hisses, hands balling into fists at his sides. “You don’t get to say her name.”

There’s a sick smile on the man’s features, and he can feel the rage building his chest at the sight of it. Hate unlike anything he’s ever known twists in his gut. He follows every rule and moral Scott sets for them to the letter, but in his darkest, quietest moments of grief the last five months… he’s thought about killing this man.

“And you,” Black Mask narrows his eyes at the Red Hood, turning his gun on him. “You’re the idiot that’s been tearing my organization apart? Some moron in a bright red ball?”

He still hasn’t looked up, hasn’t stopped shaking, and Liam feels a flicker of panic that something is wrong.

“You’ve cost me a lot of money, resources and time, you know. A some of my best men.” Liam hears the gun cock, and looks between the two, worry mounting. “They kept asking me why I hadn’t put you in the ground yet, but I suppose I was just waiting for the right time to—”

“I thought he told you to shut up,” the Red Hood says dryly, and then fires.

Liam watches the red bloom on the left side of Black Mask’s chest before his gaze snaps to the guy next to him, and he spots smoke drifting up from a hole in his jacket. He can just barely see the barrel of a gun peeking through it, tucked carefully under his arm. He watches as the shaking worsens, until it’s full-body and all-consuming, and Liam realizes he’s _laughing._  It bounces around the helmet, off the pavement, echoing.

Red Hood stands, and Black Mask falls to his knees. In two strides, his temporary ally has crossed the distance between them. “You should’ve seen your face, Argent. _Right time?_  It would’ve been five minutes ago when we hit the deck in front of you.” He strikes out, hitting him in the side of the head.

“What are you doing?” Liam asks.

“What’s it look like I’m doing?” He says, pressing the end of his gun against Black Mask’s temple. He kicks the machine gun he’d been holding out of his reach, as well as the detonator. “This is what we’re here for.”

“What?” He frowns, and then narrows his eyes. “You knew he was coming?”

The Red Hood shrugs. “Had a feeling.” Liam glares harder. “C’mon, Robin. Why do you think those idiots have been playing cards for three hours? They were bait, and I went in there knowing that. I didn’t care.” He leans down, grabbing at the back of Gerard’s neck with his free hand. “I wanted you to come.”

“That eager to finish the job, are you?” Black Mask laughs. “A piece of the cake’s not enough for you anymore, little boy?”

“Not at all. I could care less about your shitty underground kingdom, old man. I only had to take enough of it away to draw you out, to draw you here and now. Helps that all your boys are scum and I don’t take kindly to people that bring their drugs anywhere near kids, but...” He looks Liam’s way again. “I did it for you.”

“You _what_?” The Boy Wonder says, face scrunching up. “What are you talking about?”

Red Hood steps back from his captive, keeping the gun trained on him but looking to Liam. “He’s the reason your girlfriend is dead, isn’t he?”

The words strike a wound deep in his chest; one that’s loosely stitched together by an unsteady hand. A wound that’s been festering for five months, filling with hate and resentment. A wound gifted to him by a gang war, the girl that accidentally ignited it trying to prove something, and her gruesome death at the hands of the very man on his knees before him.

“How—How do you know that?” Liam asks once he finds his voice several moments later.

“I told you we were alike, Little Bird. I did my research on you. I know how it feels to lose someone special to you.” His grip tightens, and Gerard grunts as his head tilts at an odd angle. “How it feels to have the person who took them from you left...walking around. Like they _deserve_ their lives after what they’ve done.”

Suddenly, something clicks for him. “Is that why you killed Marcel Valet?”

He watches the Red Hood’s shoulders lock up. It’s the only hint that he’s struck a nerve, that he’s guessed right. It earns him a derisive chuckle. “I haven’t taken the life of anyone who doesn’t deserve it.”

“No one deserves to die, Red,” Liam says, though he can’t quite believe it himself. “They’re criminals, sure, but they don’t—”

“You still don’t know, do you?” Red Hood interrupts, tilting his head curiously. His tone turns dark, almost vicious. “He still hasn’t told you who I am, has he?”

“He’s still not back. But it doesn’t matter. I don’t care who you are, or whatever dark shit happened to you. One monster shouldn’t make another. Whatever he did, I’m sure Marcel paid for it with his time in Eichen.” He takes a step forward, careful, tossing a thumb over his shoulder. “The same way Gerard’s going to pay for all those people in there. And Spoiler, too.”

Red Hood shakes his head almost sadly. “Tell me you haven’t thought about it.”

“What?” His heart rockets up into his throat.

“Tell me you haven’t thought about killing him,” he says, shaking the offending criminal at him. “Just once, in the five months since he killed Spoiler, you haven’t thought about returning the favour?” Liam’s mouth clamps shut, and the tick to his jaw is the only answer the Red Hood needs. “That’s what I thought.”

He hears the gun cock. “Red Hood, _please_. Violence can’t be the answer to violence. There’s always another way.”

A brief silence stretches between them. When the Red Hood speaks again, it’s quieter. “You sound like him.”

Liam knows he’s talking about Scott. “He’s my mentor, and my friend. He’s taught me a lot—more than just how to fight. He’s taught me that saving people is always what comes first, because saving them means—”

“Saving yourself, in a way,” the Red Hood says softly, shaking his head. “Fuck. All this work, all this trouble just to get him here and you— _fuck_.” Liam watches as he steps back, letting go of Gerard’s neck and pulling the gun from his head. His free hand trembles a little. “Okay, fine. I’ll—it ends here. I can stop, if that’s—if you want.”

 _Wait, what_?

Something snags at the back of Liam’s mind, something about the words he’s just said and the _way_ he’s said them that— _his voice modulator's broken_ , Liam realizes. He thinks it’s been that way since the blast, and this whole time he’s been talking, there’s been an itch at the back of his mind, like there’s something he’s missing about it.

Or maybe something familiar.

 _There’s no way_ …

A batarang whistles past his head, sending the Red Hood’s gun clattering to the ground, while a second clips his shoulder, knocking him back. A moment later boots thud against the pavement next to Liam, and he half-turns to see Scott land, zipline disappearing into the dark sky above him. Batman offers him a look. “You okay?”

He nods. “I think so.” He can hear the tremor in his own voice.

Scott moves forward, knocking Black Mask out with one swift hit and carrying onwards. His hands find purchase on Red Hood’s jacket and chest as he slams him into the brick wall of the next building. The younger man chuckles, looking upwards. “Wow, that plane really is a stealthy piece of hardware when you want it to be, huh?”

A second set of boots hit the pavement, and this time, Liam’s gaze finds Isaac’s blue mask and familiar smile has joined them. “Hey, kid.”

“Hi,” Liam grins, but it’s not as bright as it should be and they both know it.

“Did you two enjoy your little honeymoon? Find all the answers you needed?” Red Hood asks, and Scott presses harder against his throat.

“Almost all of them,” Scott growls, low and menacing, a tone he normally only uses when they’re interrogating criminals on rooftops. Liam takes an instinctive step forward.

“Ah, of course,” Red Hood says, nodding. “You still need to see it for yourself to believe, don’t you, Scotty?”

Beside him, Isaac twitches at the casual use of the nickname, or maybe just the name itself, out here in the open alleyway.

“Allow me.” He moves a hand up, palm flat when the three of them tense, expecting a gun. Slowly, carefully, he reaches back behind his helmet and they hear a soft _click_. A whooshing sound follows as the black pieces at the base move outwards, loosened. And then the whole thing drops sideways off his head, bouncing once on the pavement and rolling away from him.

Liam stops it with his foot, like a soccer ball. It distracts him enough that he’s not looking when they are, but he sure _hears_ their reactions.

“Fuck,” Isaac curses.

“It really _is_ you,” Scott says.

So Liam looks up.

And it knocks the breath out of him when he sees Theo from the bar looking straight at him.

He’s sure that somewhere in the back of his mind, he’d pieced it together, listening to him talk to him about Black Mask. Without the voice modulator in his helmet, it was almost too easy to hear the flirtatious tone and see the way he carried himself and _not_ recognize him, even if they did only meet the once.

Maybe he’s always known, on some level. Maybe that’s why he was so drawn to him. But that’s silly, so Liam’s not going to count that.

“What the fuck?” Liam asks.

This time, he gets to watch the smirk build on his lips before he speaks. “Hey, Little Bird.”

“Don’t talk to him. This is between me and you,” Scott grumbles, getting up in his face. “How is this possible?”

Theo shrugs. “I hoped you were going to tell me, honestly.”

Isaac rolls his eyes. “Still a dick.”

“Wait,” Liam frowns, looking between all three of them. “How do you know each other?”

“Oh, that’s right. You’ve got some explaining to do, Scott,” Theo smirks. “You should probably get to—”

“We’re not going anywhere until you tell me what’s going on,” Scott barks. “And then, we’re going straight to Commissioner Stilinski to find you a nice, comfortable cell.”

Theo’s whole face darkens. He’s quiet a moment, and his eyes flicker to Liam only once, at the end of his silence. And he _winks_. Finally, his lips start moving, and his voice is careful, sarcastic. “As entertaining as it would be to see you all explain the arrest of a dead man—I’m afraid I’ll have to take a raincheck.”

For the second time that night, an explosion knocks Liam off his feet.

* * *

“His name is Theodore Raeken,” Scott starts, almost five hours and several painkillers later.

They’re gathered in the central hub of the cave. He’s got his right arm in a sling, and Isaac, who’s seated on what is normally Mason’s computer chair, has one leg in a brace. Stiles is between them, tapping angrily away at his keyboard. If they were in a cartoon, Liam is sure he’d be able to see the smoke rising from his ears.

He escaped with the least amount of injuries, only needing a few plasters and an extra strength Advil. His left ear is still ringing, though, and that means Mason keeps having to whisper loud enough that he may as well not bother. Corey’s quiet on his right.

“He was an old friend of Stiles and I, since we were kids. We used to play little league together.”

Stiles mutters something at his screen, but Liam can’t make it out from here. Scott sighs, dragging a hand down his face.

“He was my second Robin, after Isaac left four years ago.”

“Retired,” the first Boy Wonder in question speaks up, smirking up at Scott. “Sorry, go on.”

“He was talented, clever, a great fighter. Probably the fastest learner I’ve ever had, other than Liam. He came to me because he wanted to help his younger sister, who was sick because some asshole she’d been seeing had put drugs in her drink one night when they were out. Drugs someone in Beacon’s underground had been selling to high schoolers.”

Images of a younger Theo appear on the screen, alongside a girl that looks a like him, save a few years. Mason and Corey both look to Liam, mouth agape, but he doesn’t say anything. He hasn’t mentioned anything about that night at Sinema to Scott yet, and he’s still not sure he will. He can’t tell if it’s a mistake or not, yet.

“For awhile, it was great. He was a fantastic partner. He filled the shoes Isaac had left behind. He always had my back out there.” Scott’s face darkens, and he’s quiet for a moment. “Then, three years ago, his sister went missing. She wasn’t the first kid to do so. Stilinski had pointed me in the direction of several teens that had disappeared from school or their homes. They’d been turning up days later, along the preserve, either with things missing or...added.”

The images that come to life onscreen or not appealing. Mason makes a disgusted noise, and Corey looks away. Some of the kids have added limbs, or patches of skin. Liam’s pretty sure one has horns. All of them, however, have a huge, thick surgical scar up their chest.

“They were experimented on…,” he breathes. He _feels_ Mason shoot him a look. He doesn’t return it, but he doesn’t ignore it, either. “Marcel Valet did this?”

Scott’s eyes widen, and Stiles actually turns in his chair to look down at him. “You know?”

“Only what Mason could access, which isn’t much,” Liam explains. “We...ran into the Red Hood this week. He gave me that name.”

“He was one of three,” Scott says, and then the screen changes again, this time to display three figures clad in terrifying steampunk masks, tubes and trenchcoats. “They called themselves the Dread Doctors. Marcel called himself the Surgeon, and the other two went by the Pathologist and the Geneticist. They were—”

His words catch in his throat, and his face scrunches up the way it does whenever he’s trying to find the right way to say something. “They weren’t doctors. They weren’t even scientists,” Stiles speaks for him. “But they sure fucking thought they were. They were experimenting on kids, trying to create some sort of fucking _miracle_. Theo’s sister was one of their targets.”

“And so was he,” Scott says, tone solemn. “It was my fault. Isaac was in town, and we’d wanted to take Allison out, so I’d told him he could go out for patrol on his own. It was stupid, _so stupid,_  because he needed me, and I’d let him just—”

“He told you to go,” Isaac reminds him softly. “He insisted we have one night, just the three of us. He said him and Stiles could handle it, that if we hadn’t found anything yet...well, it was still early. We still had time.”

Stiles looks furious at the reminder, while Scott just looks miserable. Liam feels sick to his stomach. He’s fairly certain he can see where this is going.

“He found her that night, not long after we’d left,” Scott carries on. “I still don’t know how, I think they led him there but—he figured out where they were keeping her.”

“I told him to wait for backup, but he never fucking listened to me,” Stiles mutters. “So he went in, without Scott or Isaac, and got himself caught. Got himself tortured.”

“Stiles,” Scott warns.

“Fucking idiot got himself and his sister _killed_.”

“Stiles, that’s enough!” Scott snaps.

“He almost killed _you_ tonight!” Stiles raises his voice in return, glaring up at his best friend. “That blast could’ve easily killed all three of you!”

“But it didn’t,” Scott says, tone soothing.

“But it _could’ve_.”

“I don’t think so,” Liam speaks up, and all eyes whip to him. He shifts uncomfortably from one foot to the other, looking down at his feet instead of any of them. “I don’t think he meant to kill any of us, really, just knock us out.”

Mason elbows him, hard, and he glances up to see a look on his face that reads _what the fuck_?

“He’s a murderer, Liam,” Stiles says, patronizingly. “He had anger management issues as a Robin, and now he’s a gun-toting lunatic that kills people.”

“Bad people,” Liam points out, ignoring Stiles and looking at Scott, instead. “Drug dealers that prey on kids, child traffickers—those relate to his sister. Marcel was responsible for that too, so gave him what he felt he deserved. The other Doctors were already gone but us, we don’t—he’s angry, but he doesn’t blame you for what happened. He got the revenge he wanted for his death. I think he was just hoping you’d help with whatever came after.”

Scott remains quiet, frowning, mulling over his words.

“So what was he doing, then?” Stiles frowns. “What was his whole deal with Black Mask?”

Liam feels his cheeks redden. “Oh, um. That was for me, I think?”

“What?” Stiles deadpans.

“Tonight, when he had him at gunpoint—he wanted me to kill him. For Hayden.”

“ _What?!_ ” This time Mason’s raising his voice alongside his mentor.

The Boy Wonder just shrugs. “At the time, I didn’t know why he chose me. He said we were alike, but I didn’t really understand it until now. Black Mask is to me what Marcel Valet was to him, in a way. And I think he was trying to get me to see that until I stopped him.”

“Black Mask was out cold when we got there,” Isaac points out.

Liam shrugs again. “At least he wasn’t dead.” _And now he can rot in jail once he wakes up._

“It’s a pretty convoluted way of thinking,” Mason says, and then he’s shrugging, too. “But I mean, the guy came back to life, and that’s gotta mess with your head, right?”

The room falls silent after that for a long time, leaving Liam to think over every interaction he’s had with Theo since the Red Hood surfaced. He’s still mulling over how he feels about it all when the batcomputer beeps, shrilly.

“Oh, God,” Isaac groans, covering his ears. “What _is_ that?”

“Deadpool alert,” Stiles says, fingers flying across keys. A coded message pops onto the screen where they can all see it. “I keep it on alert all the time, since we had a rather unpleasant feature on it last year.”

Liam winces at the memory.

“It doesn’t update much anymore, but…,” the letters and symbols start decrypting before their eyes. “There was an addition two hours ago that I was keeping an eye on. It just got a response.”

The nonsense flickers into a rather large sum of money.

“What’s it for?” Corey asks.

“Four million dollars to put the Red Hood in the ground. It went live after my dad arrested Gerard at Beacon Memorial, and it’s just been answered,” Stiles says, before swearing.

“What’s wrong?” Isaac sits up straighter, trying to peer at whatever the other man’s looking at.

“Kate fucking Argent called it. With two of her goddamn Berserkers.” Stiles leans back in his chair, crossing his arms behind his head. “Well, Raeken’s fucked. Her Meta’s will have him for dinner.”

Liam stands, abruptly. “We have to stop them.”

“What?” Mason tugs on his cape. “Liam, are you nuts?”

“No?” The Boy Wonder frowns. “We stop people like them. Kate should know better then to hunt in our city.”

“Yeah, to save _innocents_ ,” Stiles points out. “I don’t really think Theo qualifies, do you?”

“We save people,” Liam says, more insistently. “It’s what we do.” There’s a beat where he looks around at the others, brows furrowing. His eyes flicker up to his mentor, his leader. “Right, Scott?”

Scott looks just as perturbed as he does, and beside him, Stiles curses. “Scotty, really? You can’t be serious. Think of the havoc he’s caused in the last week and a half alone. Your arm’s broke, Isaac’s leg is too.”

“You’re right,” Scott says, nodding. “Neither of us are in any shape to fight.” His eyes slide over to Liam. “But you still are. And he trusts you. I saw it earlier tonight.”

Hope fills Liam’s chest. “Go,” Scott tells him. “If he can still be saved… go.”

Liam’s on the move an instant later, making a beeline for his R-Cycle. Mason and Corey jog after him. “Liam, wait!”

“Do you...do you want me to come with you?” Corey asks. The Boy Wonder shakes his head, hearing the slight twinge of fear in his voice.

“It’s okay, Corey. I can do this. Just...be ready on comms if I need you, okay?”

The other boy beams at him, though it’s a little shaky. “Of course.”

“Liam,” Mason’s voice stops him as the bike roars to life. He looks up before putting his helmet on. “Be careful.”

“Careful’s my middle—” He stops, sees the mischievous glint in his best friend’s eye. “Shut up.”

* * *

The two men drag his informant a half a block from his apartment before Theo finds them. He’s tired, he’s sore, and he’s more than a little ticked off by the time he stomps up to the two assholes dragging Nolan through the dirt, and fires at the one holding a molotov.

His hand catches fire and he screams as it spreads to the rest of him. He sees how many bruises and cuts Nolan’s covered in, though, and he can’t really bring himself to care. He shoots the other guy in the chest, and drags the little runt up by collar of his shirt.

“Just couldn’t keep your head down, could you? For one night?” Theo snaps, and Nolan winces.

“I’m sorry.” Sometimes Theo resents having to find a man on the inside. But then he thinks of all the things he’s seen coming, and he supposes it pays for itself. Even if putting up with the whelp is a nightmare and a half.

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever,” he huffs, dropping him. “You can walk your ass home without getting into any more fucking trouble, I hope?”

Nolan nods, and speeds off down the street.

Theo counts the seconds until he hears the air change above him. He ducks, rolling to the right as they land, the girl’s claws jackhammering into the space where he was. “You know,” he drawls, springing to his feet and levelling his guns at the newcomers. “You aren’t the most subtle of strategists.”

The girl snarls, baring her razor-like teeth at him. The boy cracks his knuckles, bright blue electricity darting along his knuckles and up his arms. Theo groans. _Metas_. “I assume subtlety wasn’t part of the plan then. Cool.”

“It wasn’t,” the girl smiles. It’s predatory and sharp at the edges. “Your death was, though!”

“No kidding,” Theo huffs, and then they lunge for him. He dodges back, firing with both guns. “Here I thought I was being given an audition.”

The guy zips around them, and girl just ducks low, flattening against the pavement and hissing. Theo keeps backing up, almost stumbling twice as he moves over a curb and onto grass. He pulls two canisters from the inside of his jacket and tears the pins, tossing them at his pursuers. They hit the ground at the guy’s feet and explode in a flurry of oranges and reds.

“Nice try,” a voice says in his ear, and his heart jumps directly into his throat. Claws pierce through his jacket, digging into his arm and lower back as she clambers on. “But you missed, sweetheart.”

Theo hears ripping, and cries out as his skin tears and he goes down hard on his back. He grunts as she swings around, straddling his chest. He’s grateful for the helmet still in place that it keeps her from breathing on him, because he’s pretty sure he can see venom dripping from the fucking fangs in her mouth.

“You’re slow,” she says mockingly. “Weak, and slow.”

“Yeah,” he grunts. “Or, y’know, _stalling_.”

She screams, and as she rolls off of him, hissing, he spots the batarang sticking out of her shoulder. He hears the R-Cycle skid to a stop before he sits up to see it. “What the hell took you so long?”

The Boy Wonder slips off his helmet, killing the engine on his bike. “Couldn’t decide if you wanted to save me or not?”

“Shut up,” the kid glares at him, and Theo grins even though he can’t see it. Pushing his buttons is way too much fun. He scrambles to his feet, eyes darting between the two recovering Metas and Liam.

“I take it I probably can’t convince you to just run, can I?”

“Nope,” he huffs, fiddling idly with another batarang and looking anywhere but at Theo. “So we fight.”

He admires the other boy’s spunk. “So we fight,” he nods, settling in back-to-back. The guy steps through the smoke and fire left by his grenades, and Theo groans. “Your suit better not be conductive.”

“Ugh, she sent Venom _and_ Livewire? Fuck,” Liam mutters.

But they manage. Using skill and both their strengths.

And teamwork.

Theo won’t lie, it feels nice working with a partner again. Someone who understands without words, who reads your moves and reacts without thought whether you’re back to back or across a small park. He always envied watching Scott and Isaac fight together, in sync like they’d been doing it their whole lives. He wonders if this is what it feels like for them. As another grenade knocks Venom back when she reaches for Liam, the Boy Wonder takes off for him at a run, calling it. As he approaches, Theo sticks out his arm, clamps it around the other boy’s forearm, and launches him into the air.

Batarangs pour down at Livewire like hail, keeping him moving but distracted. Theo sees his opening and strikes, skidding past and spraying the can of rubber gel Liam had tossed him on the way up. It coats the Meta’s _everything_ , and he stops zipping around. As it solidifies and hardens, he finds himself trapped, a perfectly normal boy unable to turn into electrical currents.

Which just leaves the vicious one.

When she comes for them next, snarling, her fangs dripping venomous intent—they’re ready.

They each dodge a different way, and when she lunges for Theo, as predicted, Liam sees his chance. He switches from batarang to taser and follows after her. He gets her in between the ribs and she drops like a rock at Theo’s feet. As he steps back, wiping her venom off on the grass, the Boy Wonder ducks down to zip her feet and hands together. He drags her over to the nearby lamppost and attaches her to it, then sighs, sagging against it.

It takes Theo two strides to catch up and stand before him. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” Liam shrugs, like it’s no big deal. They both know it very much is. The tick to his jaw says as much.

Theo sighs. “Go on, ask.”

“What?” Liam blinks up at him like a deer caught in the headlights, and he finds it’s just as hilarious as every other time he’s done it since they’ve met. And just as endearing.

“You didn’t come all this way to risk your life saving mine…,” Theo lets it hang in the air, between them. “Without a question. And I know it’s not _how did you know I’d come_ , because really… I told you we weren’t so different.”

He’s sure he knows what it is, from the slight redness on Liam’s cheeks, to the angry crinkle in his brow. He’s surprised it’s taken him this long, to be honest, but then again, he’s pretty sure he didn’t figure it out until earlier tonight, when he took off his helmet for Scott.

Finally, he takes a deep inhale. “When you approached me that first night, at the bar, did you know who I was?” He’s staring at his boots instead of Theo’s face, but at least he’s asked the fucking thing now. That’s an improvement, he supposes.

“Yes,” he tells him. “I went there knowing the three of you would be there; Bat’s new blood.”

His mouth pinches into a little line, and the angry crease floods with uncertainty. “Did you—” He cuts himself off, glances up at Theo. “Did you go there to kill us?”

He wills himself not to be angry. This distrust should be expected, after all. “No,” Theo scoffs anyway. “If you still think that, then you haven’t been paying attention.”

“Why then?”

A pause where he considers his answer, then shrugs. “Because I wanted to know what kind of person you were, outside of the mask.”

“Why me?”

 _Fuck_ , he thinks. _He really is dense_.

“I told you, _later_ that first night,” Theo smirks. “Because you’re like me.”

That gets his attention. It even causes a grin. “That means it works both ways, doesn’t it?”

“What?” He frowns, glad for not the first time that the helmet hides his face. “

“It means you’re also like _me_.” And there’s a twinkle in his eye that sets Theo’s teeth on edge. He feels like he just walked into a trap in the worst way.

 _Oh_. “Shit, kid. Don’t—Don’t do that to yourself. Don’t try to convince yourself there’s _good_ in me, okay?” He waves it off with one hand.

“There is,” the Boy Wonder says stubbornly. “I saw it last night, when you chose to spare Black Mask. There’s something—-something of the old you left in there. Otherwise, you wouldn’t let your guard down around me.” the kid grins, stepping away from the post and into Theo’s personal space. Like, _very_ close into it. As close as they were that night at the bar.

Theo’s glad yet again for the helmet, because he thinks he might be blushing. The Boy Wonder intrigues him. It started as a general interest in his Robin replacement, sure, but now? Somewhere between watching the three musketeers get into the bar that first night and realizing how attractive he was, he’d started to cheer for the kid. He’d wanted to do better for him.

But he can’t let him know that, of course. And he certainly can’t have the sirens he can hear headed their way, no doubt coming to collect the two Metas. So Theo steps forward, smiling. “What can I say? I always was a sucker for a pretty face.” He leans in, and curses the fact that he’s wearing his helmet. Liam looks startled, but doesn’t pull away. Which is good, because it means he might not notice the handcuffs Theo is pulling from his jacket. “Guess that means you are, too.”

“What?” _Click_. The handcuffs sink into place around the lamppost and Liam’s wrist. The Boy Wonder looks down, eyes wide, and then back up at him. “What are you doing?!”

He can see flashing lights, now. It’s time to go. “Maybe someday I’ll try it your way again, Little Bird. But not today.” He starts backing away.

“Theo, wait—” Liam’s voice catches in his throat and he makes a startled sound.

The Red Hood smiles wistfully beneath his helmet. “See you around, kid.”

And with that, he slips soundlessly into the night.

**Author's Note:**

> I had literally way too much fun with easter eggs and references and matching up pack members with DC heroes please come talk to me on tumblr @eliestarr about it. I legit can't stop laughing about Derek and Jackson's alter egos thank you CW.


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